


No One Does H/C Like A Winchester

by Anilkex



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-20
Updated: 2017-01-11
Packaged: 2018-04-22 13:19:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 42,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4836803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anilkex/pseuds/Anilkex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hurt/Sick/Comfort-Needing Winchesters are the absolute best.  This thread will be a series of oneshots based on prompts you send me or prompts I have stored up due to awesome LJ memes.  Can be in or out of my AU - makes no dif to me - as long as it's canon character centric.  Enjoy!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Loopy Boys On Meds

**Author's Note:**

> I finished a massive multi-chap fic yesterday. Hooray for me. As an interim project before the sequel, I'm doing this H/C thread for fun. Each chapter will be a oneshot, based on either your prompts or ones I find. Prompts can be in my AU, as long as the focus is on the Winchesters, but I anticipate more non-AU stories.
> 
> PM away, or Review if you are a guest. I reserve the right to choose, but will try to fill as many as possible.
> 
> Here's the first one: Dean gets loopy on a certain type of cold medicine, but he hasn't had a bad cold in a long time, so they kind of forgot it had this effect on him. (My note: Part 2 is Loopy Sam)
> 
> Enjoy!

Sam stomps his feet outside the motel room, shaking off the snow and droplets of water that cling to his jacket. Plastic bags rustle as he fits the key in the lock, and lets himself inside. Dean is exactly where Sam left him - curled into a ball, huddled under the blankets.

Sighing with relief, Sam toes off his shoes and pads to the table, carefully setting down everything he bought.

A few days ago, it became clear that Dean caught a bug and was coming down with what promised to be a fairly nasty cold. Sam smugly felt it was long overdue. He'd fallen ill twice in the last year, both times laid up for at least a week. It was simply Dean's turn.

By this morning, Sam conceded that Dean paid his due, and was now very deserving of some relief. Dean's fever wasn't scary high, but it also didn't waver, sucking all energy out of him. Congestion left his appetite flat, and no repositioning helped alleviate the discomfort of breathing through his mouth.

They had Tylenol, which didn't really do much, and there was some cough syrup, but it wasn't strong enough to combat the drainage down the back of Dean's throat.

It was time for real cold medicine, regardless of the crappy taste.

The twenty-four hour mini-mart down the street didn't have much to choose from. They stocked one brand, and in a smaller-than-normal size, forcing Sam to buy two overpriced bottles. Whatever - if it made Dean feel better, then it was worth it.

After hanging his coat on the back of a chair, Sam checks the label on the bottle before measuring out the dose...with a little extra to top it off. He brings it over and sets it on the nightstand, next to small piles of tissues and a cup of water. Sam sighs, settles on his bed with the laptop, waiting for Dean to wake.

**xxxxx**

It doesn't take long - Dean can't sleep for more than an hour or two at a time.

When the rustling starts, Sam looks over, watching his brother toss off the blankets in a stuffed-up huff, and blink repeatedly as his eyes adjust to being open.

"Hey there…" Sam sits on Dean's bed, trying to get a better sense of how he's doing. "How're you feeling?"

Dean yawns. "Shitty." He pulls the blanket over his face and sneezes. Blanket still covering his face, he adds, "Very shitty."

Sam nods, and picks up the goo filled cup. "I got some medicine for you. The Tylenol/Cough Syrup routine isn't working."

The blanket jostles as Dean starts a fresh round of coughing. Sam waits, also picking up the glass of water.

Eventually, Dean pulls down the blanket, and huffs through his mouth. One look at the green syrup makes his face sour, but he dutifully struggles into a mostly sitting position, waving his hand for the tiny cup. It's tossed back like a pro, complete with a full facial wince and body shudder at the taste.

Sam hurriedly hands over the glass of water, which is drained in three swallows, followed by another shiver. Dean nods to signify he's finished, handing back the cup and glass, flopping against the pillows.

He glares at his brother. "Dot fair...dot s'posed t'get sick."

Shrugging, Sam carries the empty containers to the table and grabs a fresh box of tissues. "Let's be honest - it was your turn. You've been lucky." He finishes with another shrug, handing over the box. He tries to look diplomatic about it, but the gleeful little brother side somehow seeps through.

" _Hih'K'Ishhchh! K'RSHHhhh!_ This  _sucks…_ " Oblivious to Sam's gloating, Dean sneezes into his pillow, groaning from the effort.

Sam nods sympathetically, leaving the box on the nightstand and returning to his bed, pleased that his television show was still on commercial break. Sounds of Dean's breathing interrupt the dialogue, which ironically, is all about cold medicine.

It was quiet for a while, Sam, for once, taking it easy and just chilling out, watching a Stargate marathon and munching on chips.

The absence of sneezing, coughing, and complaining for the past forty-five minutes are a good sign that Dean's fast asleep.

"That guy's so huge."

Or it isn't.

Sam's eyeballs swivel toward his brother before returning to the screen. "Yeah, he is."

"I mean, if I were that huge, I don't even think I could play- _Hetschhyuu!_ -pool anymore. We'd have, like, no money. But I'd have muscles. And I don't know if that's a fair trade."

Sam contemplates this, a chip poised to enter his mouth, a frown on his face.

Dean blows his nose, sighs, and settles back against his pillow. Sam lets the chip complete its journey and crunches, shrugging his shoulders and writing off Dean's goofy comment as one of the goofy things Dean's always saying.

"Hey, Sam…?"

"Yeah?"

"Just because I like the rainbow marshmallows best in Lucky Charms...that doesn't...that doesn't make me gay, does it?" He follows this bombshell with a thunderous sneeze, nonchalantly wiping his nose afterwards. "Because doesn't the rainbow mean gay stuff?" He sneezes again. "I don't care that it's a gay rainbow, I'm just not. Gay. I just happen to really like gay rainbows. Or just rainbows. Sometimes."

Okay, that was a bit beyond the goofy things Dean's always saying. Sam replaces the chips he's holding in the bag and wipes his hands on his jeans. "You okay over there?" Not waiting for an answer, he sets the bag aside and swings his legs to the floor, eyeing his brother for any signs of...anything.

But Dean's just laying there, looking relaxed, despite the congestion. He coughs a little, waving Sam back to bed. "Yeah - 'm fine. Why?"

Sam tilts his head, decides to go for the easy answer. "Because you're sick?"

Dean nods in agreement. "I  _am_  sick.  _Indeed_. That guy says  _indeed_  all the time." He lowers his voice when he says  _indeed_. And keeps it lowered. "If I talked like this all the time I'd have a sore throat." He gives Sam a serious look, continuing in the ridiculous voice. "I'm gonna get me some juice, Sammy.  _Indeed_."

Then Dean does something Sam's never heard before.

He giggles.

He giggles, full bodied and throaty, to the point where tears actually stream down his face and breathing becomes a tad difficult, especially with his stuffed up nose.

Sam's eyes widen, and honestly, the first thought in his head is that Dean somehow got possessed. He flaps a hand at his brother. "I'll get your juice. Just...stay put." He gives Dean another quick once-over before heading to the mini-fridge and pulling out a bottle of orange juice.

It's as he's walking back to Dean's bed that it hits him. Dean's slack-jawed stare, glassy eyes, lip smacking  _oh my God_ , he's stoned. Sam actually stops in the middle of the room, sorting this through. How can he be stoned? The only thing he's had is...is…

Sam's eyes dart to the cold medicine on the table. He reads and rereads the brand. And remembers, belatedly (dammit, Sam!), that Dean can't have that cold medicine, because it makes him -

"Banana juice is weird."

...loopy.

Sam scrubs a hand over his eyes and down his face. He blames his error on the fact that the stupid jerk hasn't been sick in over a year, so how's he supposed to remember intel on brands?

_After Dean got you from Stanford and you got that migraine, he remembered exactly what medicine to buy and how to fix it even though it'd been four years since he'd done it._

Sam growls at himself to shut the fuck up, and brings Dean his juice. Dean looks up, smiles, and downs half the bottle immediately. Sam sits on the edge of his bed, rubbing his palms across his thighs. "So. Dean." Oh,  _right_  - and Sam gave him extra.  _Fantastic_. "You should try to get some sleep. Really. Knock this thing out, show it who's boss." He smiles, one that borders on begging, because a sleeping Dean can't say or do shit that'll make life super uncomfortable. Or dangerous.

Dean wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. "Yeah." He hands back the bottle, scooting under the covers and sighing.

This is good, Sam thinks. Compliant Dean is good.

"I hated that show."

Sam raises an eyebrow. "What show?"

"Who's The Boss."

"Oh…"

"Pretty sure Angela was a demon."

" _Okay_." Sam caps the half-empty bottle, setting it on the nightstand. "Let's get you all tucked in and ready for sleep." He winces as soon as the words are out of his mouth, but he's remembering that it takes a lot of effort to settle Dean once he's taken this stuff, so he's gonna say shit like this if that's what it takes.

"I'm really tired." Dean yawns wide enough to pop his jaw.

"I know you are." Sam pulls the blankets up to Dean's chin, literally tucking him in, thinking that if the blanket's tight, Dean won't get out of bed.

"But I'm really lonely, too."

 _Aaaaaand_  Sam freezes, head lolling against his chest in defeat.

Dean nods at the TV. "If I were the McGyver dude, I'd totally bang the chick. She looks like she'd kick ass in bed. Prolly make a great angel warrior." His voice deepens again. "She's the best warrior in the garrison, Dean." He shakes his head, sneezes twice. "Cas needs to gargle or something."

Sam nods, only half listening to the shit spewing out of Dean's mouth. He's more thinking that a surprise visit from Cas would be great right about now. His head snaps up.  _Yesssss…_.angel mojo magic powers to flush this evil headcase medicine out of Dean and let Sam get back to relaxing.

 _Brilliant_.

He pats Dean's chest. "Hey, you know what'd be cool?"

"What, Sammy?"

"If Cas visited us. Like, right now. We could all play a game."

Dean doesn't even take his eyes off the television. "I hate games. Too many people lie to me, keepin'...keepin' secrets. Hidin' stuff. I can't...I can't do games anymore, Sam. Don't...don't make me." He wipes his nose on his sleeve, giving Sam the most badass ramped up Eyes Sam's ever seen.

Sam fiddles with Dean's blanket., feeling shitty and uncomfortable and just plain awful.

Memories of the last time Dean was on the night-time meds are flooding back, and while he may have to deal with the stuff coming out of his mouth, he has no intention of sitting up all night to make sure Dean not only stays in the room, but is unarmed.

Speaking of which…

"Soooo….why don't  _you…_ " He actually booped Dean on the nose. "Give Cas a call, and  _I'll_ …make you more comfortable." Sam sort of fluffs Dean's pillow, deftly swiping the large knife always stored underneath.

Dean's nose wrinkles from the boop, but he smiles. He fucking smiles, and looks up at Sam like he's the most amazing thing in the world. "I really like you."

Sam ducks the knife behind his back, and tries to look anywhere but at Dean. "I know. And I...uh...I really like you, too."

Dean goes back to watching the TV. "You shouldn't. I'm...not a good person."

Sam's jaw clenches. The yo-yo of silly to heart wrenching in one second flat is gonna kill him. The worst part of all this, is that everything Dean says? To him, it's  _truthful_. This isn't just Dean saying random weird crap; it's Dean unfiltered and uninhibited.

This  _isn't_  something little brothers are supposed to deal with.

_Then maybe try remembering little fucking details like medicine Dean can't take._

Sighing, Sam takes a really good look at his brother, the face he's seen more than a million times, and decides...why not?

 _Engage_.

"I disagree. I think you're an awesome person. A much better person than me, that's for sure. You're smart, you're strong, you're the best hunter I know. Most of all, you're...you're the best brother ever. Hands down. I honestly don't know what I'd do without you."

He holds his breath a few seconds, feeling emotionally naked for opening himself like that. Sober Dean would never have let him even finish the second sentence. Sam waits, not sure how Dean will react.

"You like the rainbow mallows too, right?"

Sam laughs. He can't help it. "Yeah, man, I do."

"Pretty sure it means  _you're_  gay."

Sam laughs harder, because  _that_  was Dean.

Dean's hand raises, drops, then raises again as his head snaps forward, sneezing. He rolls his eyes up to Sam. "I don't feel good. Head's too fuzzy."

Face falling, Sam nods. "I know...I'm sorry." Kicking the Cas plan to the curb, Sam gets up, shuts off all the lights, snags the remote and settles next to Dean in bed. He plops a large box of tissues between them, and sighs. "Let's just...watch TV, see if you can sleep, and we'll start over tomorrow."

Dean nods back, because  _sure_  - Sam crawling into bed with him was perfectly normal.

Next commercial break...

"You know...you'd think that all the different colors in the rainbow marshmallow meant that there were different flavors, but it doesn't. It's all just…marshmallow flavored."

"But it's a marshmallow...how else should it taste?"

"Fruity?"

"You're weird, Sam." Pause. "So we're back to the gay thing, huh?"

* * *

  **XXXxxxXXXxxx PART 2 XXXxxxXXXxxx**

* * *

 

Dean likes doing the laundry. Forced down time in small doses keeps him going. The View was on TV when Dean arrives, one of his secret favorite shows. After feeding the machines, he pulls up a plastic chair, and settles in to watch with a bag of candy from the vending machine. The hosts were talking about taking time for oneself every day to reflect, reassess, and recharge. Dean nods along, because he sees laundry time as his own mini vacation, which he gets to take even when things are shitty, smelly, and bleak as fuck.

Those chicks are so fucking smart.

Whoopie's going off on some famous asshole who cheated on his wife when there's a loud banging, followed by a horrific grinding noise. Dean reaches for his gun, dropping the candy and releasing a dozen multi-colored spheres in a dozen different directions across the grungy floor.

"Oh, dammit!  _Troy! Machine number four's out again!_ " A plump, pleasant woman waddles from behind a counter over to the machine, clucking her tongue and shaking her head. "Stupid, worthless machine. Shoulda replaced you last month."

Swallowing his heart back into his chest, Dean releases his grip on the gun that's halfway out of his pants, and wipes his sweaty palms on his jeans. He's about to sit back down when he realizes -  _Aw, shit_  - machine number four is  _his_  machine.

His vacation just got rained on.

The woman stops in front of it, then takes a couple steps back as a growing puddle appears at her feet. She sighs. "Who was using this machine?"

Dean actually raises his hand. "Uh - that'd be me…"

The woman sighs again, gesturing at the obviously broken machinery. "I'm so sorry, sir. This machine's been so fussy lately...you'd think it was haunted." Dean tilts his head at it. "I'm gonna have to move you to a different washer."

Ohhhhh, wait…"I, uh, am gonna need some soap, then. I used the last of mine on that load." They both jumped as the machine belts out one last protesting groan, shaking back and forth and spewing said soap out of the top.

Maybe the bastard  _is_  haunted…

The woman waved a hand at him. "That's no problem at all. I have some you can use. Now, let's get your stuff into a washer that will actually  _clean_  your clothes…"

**xxxxx**

When Dean arrives back at the motel, he's doing a lot better. The nice woman refunded all his money, so three loads of laundry cost nothing, not to mention the free candy and soda she gave as well.

Sam texted a while ago that he was heading out for a run, so Dean pops open a beer and starts putting the clothes away, stacking Sam's on his bed so the fussy little princess can put his own shit away however he wants, and stowing his in his duffel. The towels and blankets are already packed in the Impala's trunk.

Thunder rumbles overhead, so Dean turns on the news to check the weather. They were supposed to head out tonight after dinner, but if the weather is bad…

Dean listens, slack jawed, to the well-dressed man prattle about fronts, jet streams, and barometric pressure. When the nightly forecast appears, complete with pictures, he perks up, taking a swig of his drink and frowning when he sees the heavy rainfall predicted.

Stuck here another night, then.

 _Blech_.

The door opens, and in walks Sam, sweaty and panting. "Hey...how was your vacation?"

Dean belches, thumping his chest. "Awesome. Machine broke down, had to switch to a new one, and got the whole shebang for free."

Sam tosses his keys on the table and pulls his shirt off. "Nice. So, the weather is shit…"

Dean gestures at the TV with his beer bottle. "Yeah, I saw. Should probably hang here tonight, head out in the morning."

Sam nods. "Yeah, sounds good. We don't have a job right now, so there's no rush. Let me take a shower, then we'll grab dinner."

"Sounds good."

**xxxxx**

" _Hiiih-HehShhhhyuu!_ "

"Jesus, bless you. You coming down with something?"

Sam shakes his head, pressing a napkin to his nose. "Don't...don't  _thiiii_ … thinkso _HehhhSchhhyuuu!_ "

Dean glances around, trying to figure out why Sam'd been sneezing so much. Throughout dinner, Sam dropped his fork,  _twice_ , spilled his water, and went through an entire canister of napkins because of it.

"Well something's up, man."

Sam presses his fingers to his temple and sniffles. "Doh clue...I cad't stop.  _Hiiihhh-hrshhhyuu!_  I sbell flowers or sobething, but I cad't tell where they are."

Dean frowns. There are no flowers anywhere in the diner. He leaves some cash on the table. "Well, let's get outta here. Maybe the fresh air will help."

Nodding, Sam sneezes into his arm before slowly getting to his feet. Another sneeze catches him off guard, and he almost bumps into a waitress carrying a whole tray of food. Luckily, Dean grabs his arm, pulling him over, and avoiding a catastrophe. It  _was_  pretty amazing, and Dean's about to comment on just that, when a strong floral scent hits him.

"What the - " He looks around again, but finds nothing.

It took a second, but he finally figures it out.

Sam's clothes. The smell was coming from his clothing. Sam's nose is already scrunched up again, and he's in the middle of bringing his arm up to cover his face when Dean pushes hard, startling the sneeze into a corner long enough to propel Sam outside, where he bends over and lets loose.

Dean drags a hand down his face, helplessly watching his brother pitch forward. When it looks like he's slowing down, Dean places a hand on Sam's back. "C'mon, Sammy...I know how to fix this…"

**xxxxx**

Thirty minutes later, they're back at the motel, Sam showered and changed into a pair of Dean's sweats and t-shirt that weren't washed in the evil soap. Dean ducked out to grab some large plastic garbage bags, so he could gather up all of Sam's stuff and rewash it tomorrow.

He waves a box of extra-strength allergy relief medicine in front of Sam. "Hey...take some of this."

Sam heads back into the bathroom, head shaking and breath hitching. "Don't ... I ...  _Heh...Hiiihattschhh! Heschhhhyuu!_ " He sniffles. "Don'tneedto _Hetschchh!_  JesusChrist- _HNGXT!_ " The door shuts, and Dean hears three more belt out, followed by a nose blow.

 _Like hell, he doesn't need it._  Dean crosses the room, crushes the pills and slips the powder into a cup of soda. He threw in one extra, just to make sure Sam sleeps this off.

**xxxxx**

Almost an hour later, Sam's sneezing has slowed. Dean can feel the relief radiating from his brother, as breathing now takes place, mostly without interruption. He flips through the channels until he finds an episode of Stargate. He sets the remote on the nightstand and gets comfortable with a package of peanut butter cups.

He's just starting to nibble at the chocolate coating when Sam announces, "I really don't think I am."

Chocolate cup firmly between his teeth, Dean's eyes swivel toward his brother. Sam's just laying there, eyes fixed on the TV. Dean finishes the bite and chews slowly, waiting for a follow-up. When none is forthcoming, he offers, "You really don't think you're what? Gay?" He chuckles and continues stripping the remaining candy down to the peanut butter.

Come on - Sam left himself wide open.

And then Sam ruins it.

"Yeah."

Dean almost chokes on the chocolate melting in his mouth. " _What?!_ "

"I said, I really don't think I'm gay. I mean, there was that one time at school with Frank Vandelman, but I was so drunk that I don't think it counts. Not that we did anything. I was just sort of looking him over from across the room while drinking this amazing drink that my friend Allison made with this rum her parents gave her from while they were in Mexico. I think there was pineapple juice in it, and even though I absolutely fucking hate pineapple juice, the drink was really good and you could hardly taste the pineapple in it, which is probably why I really liked it. I think I had, like, four of them. Still wasn't enough to make me  _do_  anything with Frank, but I did check him out."

The room fell silent, except for the sound of the Stargate clicking into place. Dean pops the rest of the cup into his mouth, thoughtfully sucking the chocolate off his fingers. He can only think of one response. "You were interested in a guy named Frank?"

"Yeah. No. I mean, he was kinda cute."

Oh, well, okay then…?

Dean frowns, still sorting this out. " _Kinda_  cute?"

"I dunno. Maybe? In a Daniel Jackson sort of way, only he wasn't blond and he didn't wear glasses and he was a political science major, not a scientist, even though both majors have the word science in them, so technically they're sort of related, kind of like second cousins, although I'm not sure that could actually be validated by actually looking at their actual definitions. And I'm not even sure you could classify majors like you would family members, but in some cases, I think it kinda works. And  _maybe_  he was kinda cute, but like I said, I was really drunk, you know?"

There's a slight pause.

Dean scratches his head. "Yeah, I got that memo with the pineapple juice and everything. You okay, Sammy?" He wipes his hand on a blanket and turns to face his brother, who's still staring at the TV, head tilted on a pillow, legs sprawled all over the bed.

Sam nods. "I was afraid you'd hate me if I was gay, so I'm really glad I don't think I am."

Dean sits up,  _completely_  confused, now. " _Waitasec_  - why would I - "

"I mean, you'd still love me and everything because I'm your brother and Dad told you to love me and take care of me, but I think it would've been one more thing you'd have had to deal with, you know? You have a hard enough time dealing with me  _now_. If we added being gay to the already long list of shit I have going on, I think it'd push you over the edge. Although I guess we'd have a whole bunch of new bars we could scam at. But I don't think I am, so it's okay."

Head spinning, Dean swings his legs to the floor. Where the fuck did Sam get the idea that he'd hate him if he was gay? Sam knows better than that. Dean could give a shit about that stuff. He wasn't one of those -  _holdon_. Hold. On.

First off, Dean's not sure why he's even entertaining the crap coming out of Sam's mouth. Second, there's  _a lot_  of crap coming out of Sam's mouth.

_Third…_

"Hey, Sammy."

"Yeah, Dean?"

"Before, when I asked you if you wanted some allergy meds, you said you didn't need any. Why'd you say that?"

Sam blinks. "Because I already took some. An extra one, even."

Dean nods his head, hands over his face. Of course. Of course, Sam already took the meds. Sam's an adult. Sam knows how to deal with shit like this. Dean's still sneaking around trying to get Sam to do what Dean thinks is best, like Sam's ten fucking years old.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Dean sighs. Way to go, Dean. Way. To. Go.

He's so fucked. Loopy Sam won't shut up for, like,  _ever_.

"I still like the marshmallows, though."

" _Okay_ , Sam. Let's...let's stop talking about it, okay? How about...how about we just watch TV? Enjoy the quiet, peaceful night?"

Sam muffles a stray sneeze into his blanket. "It's never quiet when I'm around. You know that. Drives you nuts. Drove Dad nuts all the time. That's one reason why he hated me. I was always questioning him, challenging him, pushing every button he had, being a pain in the ass. I only trusted you, even when you agreed with him, and that upset him even more so of course he hated me."

_Oh, Jesus._

Dean rolls his eyes to the heavens, asking for mercy. "Dad never hated you, Sam." He immediately regrets opening his mouth, forgetting that two minutes ago, he he told himself not to engage with Sam when he's like this.

"No, he did. I know he... _heh_... _hiiihschhuuuu!_  did. It's okay, I don't blame him. I'm a pain in the ass. Like the time when I was in second grade and I gave you that haircut because I heard you tell Dad you wanted to look cool in your math class for some girl whose name I can't remember. You were so mad at me. It's like that."

Dean sighs, digging his fingers into his thighs, wondering what he can do to stop the onslaught of Sam's innermost thoughts. That's when he gets a brilliant idea. Cas could come. Cas could use his angel mojo and clear the offending drugs from Sam's system.

It's brilliant.

He grabs the empty candy wrapper and wads it up. "Hey, Sammy, how about we invite Cas to hang with us?"

Sam's face wrinkles up. "Cas doesn't like me. I'm tainted and dirty to him. No, wait - unclean. That's the word. I'm unclean." He turns his Eyes on Dean. "I shower way more than you, but I'm unclean because of my blood. I can't shower my blood." He turns back to the TV. "I tried, once. Maybe I'm allergic to pineapple juice. I threw up a lot the next morning."

Dean freezes. "He...you... _what?_ "

Sam scrubs at his nose. "Yeah, not the sneezing allergy but the puking one, because I was a real mess and Brady had to make sure I didn't drown in the toilet. I also found a blood purification ritual in one of Bobby's old books and tried it, but it didn't work and Meg told me it'd never go away. I have demon in every part of me because the red blood cells reproduce and - "

" _Stop_. Sammy...just, stop.  _Please_." Dean throws the wrapper across the room. Which really ends up flittering to the floor two feet away from him because it unwrapped and floated more than flew. He sits back on the bed, massaging his temples. Chatty Sam gives all sorts of information, which was great when they were little and Dean could find out things like  _Stanford_  when Sam doesn't know he's spilling.

But  _this_  Chatty Sam gave Dean a little  _too_  much insight, making him nauseous, depressed and anxious all at once.

Sam shakes his head, stubble rustling against the pillow. "I don't know why you bother."

Dean looks up sharply. "Why I bother what?"

"Why you bother still following Dad's orders to take care of me when it's clear that I'm the biggest problem in your life."

Dean blinks at him.

"I can't even remember what cold medicine you can't take."

Ah… _That's_  where this is going. GuiltySam is the  _worst_.

"Sam - it wasn't a big deal." He kicks the wrapper under the bed and shoves Sam over with his hip so he could sit down. "Hey...lookit me." Dean's head retreats from the pure force of Sam's Eyes. Sighing, he reaches out and takes hold of Sam's chin.

Time to jump in the pool.

"Listen - I didn't need Dad's orders to care for you after the first time you said my name. It was game fucking over right then and there. I take care of you because you're my brother, and I want to. No other reason. You're the best thing in my life, Sammy, nothin'll change that. So just...knock it off, okay? Please?"

Sam just blinks at him, eyes slightly unfocused. Dean sighs again, letting go of Sam's chin and getting comfortable on the bed so he didn't fall off in his sleep, because he plans on staying close until Sam comes down from this medication high.

Several seconds later, Sam nods, returning to the TV.

 _Thank you,_  Dean mentally shouts out to whatever deity might be listening. It's finally quiet, Daniel Jackson is explaining the scientific whatever behind an environmental phenomenon, and Dean's eyes start closing.

Until he hears, "Can I tell you a secret?"

He jolts awake, thinking, what now? Why does Sam need permission to tell him something? "Yeah, of course."

"I like it when you call me Sammy."

Dean's breath catches, and he snakes an arm around his brother, pulling Sam's head to rest against his chest. "I know you do, Sammy. I know you do."

**XXX END XXX**


	2. Dean's On A Boat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Zana Zira, who wanted: Dean and Sam on a boat - preferably with Bobby and Cas (who can either be human or cut off from Heaven, but for some reason has no healing powers) - either for a hunt or on a cruise as a reward from some rich guy they saved on a hunt. And it turns out that Dean can't handle boats any better than planes. He isn't scared, but he gets sick as a dog, and because he's too stubborn to admit to anyone that he isn't feeling well, they're already way out on the water before the sickness really kicks in and by then it's too late to turn back or do much about it. Cue frustrated but caring Sam (and maybe Bobby and/or Cas) taking care of his seasick brother until they get back to shore/finish the hunt/etc.

Dean surveyed the crowd as they waited in line, mentally tallying who'd ultimately be bait for this ghost ship they were hunting. Fortunately, there were several options to choose from, which meant the odds for a sighting were high.

Sam threaded his way through families and tour groups, waving their tickets as he approached his brother. "I got 'em. Looks like this'll be a full boat - there's a tour group of seniors, several families, and a middle school field trip."

"Awesome," Dean muttered, wiping a hand down his face and surreptitiously checking the weapons he had stashed in various pockets and elastic bound clothing parts. "Where's Cas?"

Sam bowed his head, before raising it and nodding behind Dean. "He found one of those guys selling churros out of a cart. Hasn't left it since we got here."

Eyebrow raised, Dean turned, and sure enough, there was the angel, brow furrowed and cheek bulging, talking to the vendor who stared at him like he was batshit crazy. Sighing, Dean walked over and tugged on Castiel's sleeve. "Hey. Donut boy. C'mon, we board soon. Say goodbye to the nice churro man."

Cas quickly swallowed. "Hold on - I'll take three more, please." He paid the vendor then followed Dean back to Sam, who was getting in line at the boat's entrance.

Dean shoved his hands in his pockets. "Cas, you ever been on a boat before?"

Cas licked the sugar off his fingers, eyes rolled upwards, as he pondered over the many years of his life. Dean was beginning to regret his question, when Cas answered, "I visited Noah briefly, but that was before the flood. So technically, yes, I have been on a boat, but no, not a boat actually on the water, if that's what you really meant." He hastily added the last part when he saw Dean's nostrils flare at Castiel's technicality.

"That's what I -  _wait_. In your whole existence, you've never been on a boat in the water? Are you serious?"

"Why wouldn't I be serious?"

Sam sighed, pointedly staying out of it. This was going to be a long hunt.

"Okay...nevermind. Look - lay off the fried bread. As delicious as they are, and trust me, I know they're delicious, the boat ride can get choppy, we'll be pretty far away from land, and you can't use your mojo to fix things up."

Cas gave Dean the look all teenagers give their parents when they're being lectured on something  _stupid_. Because, of course, they're  _not_  stupid. "I'm not stupid, Dean. I'll be fine."

Sam snorted to himself.

Dean shook his head.

Cas sighed through his nose, and gave Dean a little smile. "Dean Winchester. Always worrying about everyone else." Sam bit his lip and turned away.

"Oh, JesusChrist," Dean swore. "Don't start with that. Just...shut up."

Sam's shoulder shook with silent laughter, and harder yet when Cas shoved half a churro into his mouth when he thought no one was looking.

**xxxxx**

Contrary to Dean's warnings, the ride was rather calm. The boat glided through the waves, bobbing gently, making good progress. The guide blathered over the speakers about various landforms, marine tidbits, and the occasional comment on a passing bird.

The boat consisted of three decks, so there was plenty of room for the numerous passengers milling about, pointing and  _oohing_  and  _ahhing_  at the scenery. The hunters split up, each on a different deck, eyeballing the water in different directions. The reports of the ghost ship were sketchy at best, but the missing tourist reports made it clear that something took those people, so there they were.

Dean was on the bottom deck, one hand gripping the railing, the other massaging the back of his neck. A headache started not long after they left the dock, but he was trying to ignore it, because there were over fifty people he had to protect on this boat, not to mention an angel who couldn't use his powers and a brother who was still a little off from two weeks with the flu. Dean  _didn't_  have the flu, but he was tired as fuck from constantly keeping Sam's head above the toilet more than in it.

This was their first gig in a few weeks, and Dean was itching to keep these people safe.

The further they got from shore, however, the worse it got. He'd been sure the open air would fix it, but it wasn't. The breeze came in spurts, depending on how the boat rocked. The inconsistency of it all started being frustrating, because all Dean wanted was a steady stream of cool air against his face. Said frustration only increased said headache, perpetuating the cycle of fantastic.

Sam walked up, immediately noticing the tightness around Dean's mouth, and the pain lines at the corner of his eyes. Frowning, he said, "Hey...you okay?"

Dean jumped a little. "What? Yeah - I'm fine." He gestured at a gaggle of middle schoolers being obnoxious. "All that noise plus the screechy tour guide is giving me a headache, that's all. What's up?"

Sam shrugged, resting his elbows on the railing and staring out at the water. "Nothing. I'm bored as fuck, that's all."

Another breeze swept by, this time with a hint of seaweed and algae. Dean swallowed heavily, looking for a distraction. "Your mane is flowing quite freely there, Rapunzel." Focusing on making fun of Sam apparently helped alleviate the pressure in his head..

Sam rubbed his nose with the back of his wrist. "It  _feels_  fabulous, too. We have three more hours of this. You really think we're gonna find it?"

Dean shrugged, turning his back to the water and leaning against the rail, only to discover, oh right, there's open water on the other side, too, clearly outlining the boats up and down movement. "I dunno, Sammy. But if it shows, we gotta keep these people safe." He glanced at his brother. "Why'd you come down here? You feelin' okay?" Dean knew the irony of asking when he was the one currently a little off center, but Sam's always the priority, and Sam was just sick, and Sam -

"I'm fine. The fresh air's awesome." He blew out a resigned sigh. "Fine. I'll go back to my perch." He pushed himself off the side and walked back down stairs.

Dean sighed with relief. For a second, he thought Sam would notice he didn't feel well, and then would insist Dean sit down, yadda yadda yadda.

Fifty people to keep safe. No time to sit down.

**xxxxx**

Over the next hour, that phrase became Dean's mantra, forcing him to push through his increasing discomfort despite reason and logic.

Fifty people to keep safe. No time to sit down.

Cas and Sam each checked in with him twice. Each time, Dean hid how sick he felt, unwilling to take a knee. Each time, the others knew something was up, because contrary to what Dean thought, he sucked at hiding his feelings.

Still, Sam allowed him the space to make these choices. He warned Dean that being around the flu for two weeks was a good indicator that he'd catch it, but Dean just rolled his eyes and flapped dismissive hands, claiming "I don't get sick" which Sam knew was total and complete bullshit.

Eventually, Sam perched on the top deck, at a spot where he could study both Dean and the sea.

Win-win.

Over the next hour, he watched Dean's progression, or rather, deterioration, into utter misery.

For starters, Dean pulled his jacket tight, even after zipping it closed. Despite appearing chilled, there was a thin sheen of sweat across his forehead, which he wiped away every now and then with a sleeve.

Sam's jaw set.

Dean alternated between massaging his temples, forehead, and stomach, accompanied by frowns, sighs, and pursed lips.

Sam sighed, leg bouncing.

When the heavy swallowing started, Sam'd had enough. He purposefully strode down the steps, careful not to bowl over a herd of seniors in his haste, and made his way to Dean's side.

As he approached, Dean straightened, passing a shaky hand over his mouth and forcing a grin on his face.

Right, because  _that'll_  work.

"Hey, Sammy, what's - "

"Drop it. Time to sit down."

Dean's mouth fell open, and both brothers geared up for a battle of the wills, when the boat dipped. Not a lot, but enough.

Dean gripped the railing, and actually whimpered, eyes clenched shut. Sweat sprouted all across his forehead and nose.

Knowing his brother couldn't be moved, Sam leaned close. "Be right back. Stay put." Dean snorted, confident that if he let go of the railing, he'd faceplant on the deck.

Sam dragged a couple chairs over. "Okay, tiger...sit down." He guided Dean's ass into the seat, and had the decency not to laugh when Dean's audible sigh of relief left his lips.

Sam sat too, shaking his head. "I told you, man, you were gonna catch it."

Dean cracked open one eye. "Sam, I - "

Sam held up a finger. "Nuh-uh. Lookit you - fever, chills, headache, upset stomach. It's the flu."

If Dean could roll both eyes, he would have. He settled for a one-eyed glare. "Sam. I don't think - "

Sam threw his hands in the air, anger whispering. "Of course, what would I know, right? Sammy always needs to be taken care of, Dean always needs to push through. Well, not this time, Dean. As soon as we get back, you're swallowing some Tylenol, and - "

Dean hiccuped, covering his mouth with a closed fist. He took measured breaths through his nose, slowing reaching out to grab Sam's jacket, twist it in his fist, and yank Sam close. "Don't say swallow." He then swallowed, lowering his fist and wiping his forehead. "I don't. Have. The flu."

Sam stopped. He stared. Tilting his head, he pressed the back of his hand against Dean's forehead. Then pulled it away with a grimace.

Cool. Clammy.  _Gross_.

The tour guide's voice crackled through the speakers. "We're circling the Island of Nantoo, where native tribes once thrived. When the Americans took over their land, the entire tribe was wiped out…"

The boat leaned a little to the left, as she began to circle around. Dean's cheeks welcomed a faint green to their hue, and he gripped Sam's jacket harder.

Oh.

Oh,  _fuck_.

"You don't have the flu," Sam stated, his tone flat, yet full of  _I Get It Now._

Dean slapped Sam in the chest. "Thanks for catching up."

Sam frowned hard. "You've never had problems before. What's the deal?"

Dean carefully inched forward until his head touched the cold metal bars of the railing, almost crying out at how good it felt. "I dunno." Dean never was one for words, but right now, he wasn't capable of offering more than a few at a time.

Sam glanced around. "Shit...we're only halfway done, Dean. We're stuck here for another - "

"I'm aware."

Huffing, Sam placed a hand on Dean's back, gently rubbing up and down either side of his spine, the way Dean comforts Sam when he's sick. In a gentle voice, he admonishes, "You should've said something."

Dena managed a shrug.  _What difference would it make? We still have to help these people._

Sam wanted to say  _Fuck these people, you're more important._  But he's fairly sure Dean would kick his ass for vocalizing his true feelings, seasick or not. "Look, maybe...maybe Cas can - "

"No mojo." Dean squints at him. "They'll find him. They'll kill us. No mojo."

Frustrated, Sam ran his fingers through his hair, looking around for anything that could make his brother feel better.

"There's nothin', Sam. It's fine. Keep lookin' for th'ghost."

A swarm of twenty-somethings hurried by, students, from what Sam could tell. They were chattering excitedly. "There's even an exhibit downstairs! With an actual vase!" Sam rolled his eyes.

Dean nudged him. "Sounds like you."

Without any heat, Sam muttered, "Shut up," but blushed at the memory of a museum trip while at Stanford.

Dean knew he struck a chord, and ventured a chuckle, just as the boat bobbed a little. " _OhJesusChristmakeitstop..._ " popped out of his mouth, past his filter, before he could stop it.

Sam scooted his chair a little closer, hovering protectively, keeping the pressure on Dean's back. "I'm sorry…"

Dean waved a hand at him, like he didn't just beg for help a second ago.

Sam looked up and spied Castiel, shoving the remainder of a churro into his mouth as he walked over. He noticed Dean's posture immediately, and wiped his hands on his coat. "Is everything alright?"

Dean gave him a thumbs up, which Cas stared at all of a second before turning to Sam. "Is everything alright?"

Sam shook his head. "Dean's seasick. Never happened before, but for some reason, this trip got to him." He felt Dean giving him the middle finger against his thigh. Being the bigger person, he ignored it. "Hey, Cas, would you see if you can find some Sprite? Or...7-Up? Some kind of clear soda with bubbles in it?"

Nodding thoughtfully, Cas shook a finger. "I remember seeing some below. I'll be right back." He takes two steps before turning back, looking sheepish. "You know, I could...um…"

Muffled against his sleeve, Dean barked, "No Mojo!"

Holding up his hands in surrender, Cas turned on his heels and went in search of the soda.

Sam wisely chose to stay silent during Castiel's absence, preferring Dean's agitation to be directed towards the clueless angel than the easily insulted baby brother. Dean's hand now held tight on Sam's knee, and he was pressing a little closer than a minute ago. Sam knew that for Dean to behave this way, in public no less, he had to be miserable beyond miserable.

Finally, Cas returned, triumphantly waving a green can of soda at them.

"Oh my God, he's shaking it," Sam murmured. Dean breathed a laugh.

"I found some. They also had churros, but I have to wait until the oil heats up, then they'll fry them and roll them in cinnamon sugar!" He crouched down. "I'm not having any trouble on the boat, Dean, so can I get some churros when they're ready?"

The talk of food made Dean whimper again, so Sam stepped in. "Cas - would you open the soda? Uh - preferably away from us? And then sure, you can get some of those...things. Just don't bring them here, okay?"

Cas stood up, comprehension dawning on his face. He winked. "I understand, Sam." He pointed at Dean. "We don't want someone getting jealous." Sam just stared, as Cas gave him another wink followed by a thumbs up.

He took a few steps away to open the can, and Dean whispered, "I wanna kill 'im, but it doesn't seem fair…"

Sam patted Dean on the back in agreement.

The soda might have helped, no one's sure, because it never made it to Dean's lips. There was a scream, followed by a rush of footsteps toward one side of the boat. Dean's grip on Sam's leg intensified, as he lifted his head, trying to focus on whatever was happening.

There, on the starboard side, was indeed, a ghost ship, floating and shimmering on the water. Cell phones and cameras were out, flashing pictures amidst a flurry of muttering and cries of exclamation.

The boat lurched.

" _Fuck…_ " Dean croaked, pulling himself to his feet.

Sam leapt up as well, meeting Castiel's gaze from across the deck, which was now all serious and ready for action. Between them, a figure flashed into view, an ancient tribal native from the look of him, fully armed and absolutely pissed off. Wonderment turned to full-on freak-outs, as people screamed, clambering away.

The spirit roared, pounding his chest and waving a weapon in the air. The ghost ship began circling the tour boat, and Sam was trying to keep his brother upright. How could they salt and burn a fucking ghost ship?

The boat lurched yet again.

"Downstairs…" Dean grunted. "Artifact…"

"What?" Sam asked, starting to pull his salt-loaded gun.

Dean's eyes were a little unfocused, as the entire world spun before him. "The  _exhibit_ , nerdboy…" He was grinding out words between his teeth, struggling to keep control.

_Right_  - the artifact in the basement the students were gushing over. Propping Dean against the railing, Sam gestured at Cas to keep the spirit busy. Cas nodded, catching the spirit's attention, and keeping it away from the others.

Sam bolted down the stairs, three at a time, pushing past both frightened and thrill-seeking passengers, to get to the small display case bolted to the wall by the bathroom. He was about to smash the glass, when he noticed that the door to the case was ajar. Yanking it open, he grabbed all three pieces and frantically searched for a way to burn clay.

That's when he spotted the microwave. He quickly shoved everything inside, cranked the timer, set it on High, then ran back upstairs, hoping no one would turn it off.

Cas appeared to be in a verbal stand-off with the spirit, trying to communicate in its native language. Dean had collapsed back in his chair, jacketless.

Cas seemed fine, so Sam made the decision to sprint towards his brother. The second Sam reached his side, the spirit started to flicker. It froze, staring at its feet, crackling in and out of sight, until a bright light latched onto his ankles, shooting upwards like a flame crawls across paper.

It was over in a matter of seconds. The ghost ship disappeared, the spirit disappeared, and Sam wondered why Dean's jacket disappeared.

Ignoring everyone else, Sam sat back down, like he'd just stepped out to go to the bathroom, and set his hand against Dean, who was shivering now, goosebumps all along his arms and neck. "Dude...what the fuck…"

Then...he smelled it.

"Oh.  _Okay_."

Dean's head was pillowed on his arms, again using the railings for support. He was breathing heavily, swallowing often, and groaning. The sighting caused some hubbub in the bridge, and while Sam's not sure what happened up there, he knows the boat swayed a  _lot_.

"So...ghost's dead…"

Dean waggled his fingers in the air.  _Hooray…_

Cas came over, pulling the can of soda out of his pocket. "You still want this?" He asked casually, as if he hadn't been sparring with a ghost a minute ago.

Dean made  _Gimme Gimme_  motions, so Cas turned away, popped it open, then handed it over. Dean shook so badly, Cas had to help him connect it to his mouth.

Sam looked at his watch. "Awesome, we still have well over an hour."

Dean thunked his head against the metal.

Cas thumbed toward the stairs. "I'm gonna see if the oil's ready."

**xxxxx**

The voyage back seemed to take forever. Dean got progressively worse, although he kept the contents of his stomach inside. Unhappy with the chair arrangement, Sam sat on the deck, making his brother sit in front of him, between his legs, so Sam could easily keep Dean upright, and Dean could grasp onto Sam for dear life. It also helped keep Dean warm, since his jacket got dumped overboard when he got sick.

For an hour, the only thing Sam could do, was mop up Dean's sweat, help hold the can of soda when Dean was able to take a sip, and wrap Dean in his limbs to stop the trembling, to steady the rocking, to provide stability.

Dean's cheek stayed pressed against Sam's arm. Shallow pants and the occasional moan were the only sounds he made.

Once, Cas returned with a handful of churros, but one look from Sam made him turn right around and eat them somewhere else.

At last, the boat docked, and after the majority of the passengers disembarked, Sam and Cas helped Dean to his feet, slowly walking him off the boat, not making eye contact with the crew. They staggered to the Impala, upon which Dean flung himself. "You're my only transport from now on, Baby. Jus' you 'n me."

Sam sighed. "Gimme the keys, Dean." Dean cracked open one eye and glared. "Don't even - are you fucking crazy?  _Give me the Goddamn keys_." Sam held out his hand in a huff, while Dean reluctantly tossed them over.

As Dean crawled into the passenger seat, Sam grabbed a hoodie from the trunk. "Hey - put this on, okay?"

Dean's eyes swiveled up at Sam, then at the shirt. Sam held it out again, and slowly Dean reached for it, eyes glassy and unfocused. Confused, Sam flashed a look at Cas, who leaned forward. "He has a temperature."

Sam pinched the bridge of his nose. "Let's get back to the motel."

Cas nodded, opening the rear door. Before getting in, he asked, "Can we stop for food on the way?"


	3. Loopy Cas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So my dear foxonthemoon wanted a Loopy Castiel story. I took a lot of liberties here, and connected this to the two stories I've already posted. I realize there are inconsistencies, along with another one I'll address at the end...but, hey! Loopy Cas! Shiny!

 

 

They pull the Impala into Bobby's yard, weary from several hours of travel. Once the car is set to park, the brothers look at each other.

_Thank God we're here._

Sam pulls out the keys, sighing in relief, while Dean glances in the backseat, where Cas is curled into a ball, sleeping. "Hey...sunshine...we're here. Time to get up."

Cas blinks rapidly as he wakes, disorientation and confusion etched into his expression. "Where - "

"Bobby's, remember? C'mon, let's get inside and go to bed."

More confused, Cas says, "I was already sleeping. Why - "

"A  _bed_ , Cas. Trust me. It'll be worth it."

The three stagger up the steps, carrying duffels, the plastic bag of laundry Dean still needs to rewash after the laundry soap incident, and the med kit, which is depleted of most supplies. Bobby's waiting for them, a sympathetic smile on his lips.

"'Bout time you got here. Come on - beds are ready and waiting."

**xxxxx**

Sometime early morning, it hits Castiel. A massive stomachache, no doubt from all the churros he consumed, doubles him over, as his vessel tries to process the massive amount of starch the angel poured down his throat. During one beaut of a cramp, Cas realizes that an angel's appetite significantly outweighs that of its vessel.

He stumbles to the bathroom, taking care of business, also realizing that angels don't eat or drink for reasons such as bathrooms. On his way back to his room, he runs into Bobby in the hallway. With one look, Bobby sizes him up, hooks a finger at him, and leads Cas to the kitchen.

"Dean told me about your little adventure with churros. Had one myself several years back, while down in Mexico during a Day of the Dead celebration gone wrong. Ate way too many of those things - couldn't stop - and paid for it the next day or so." He reaches into a cabinet and pulls out a small box. "Now. You drop three of these bad boys in some water, let 'em fizz and melt, then drink it. You'll feel right as rain in no time." He claps Cas on the shoulder, then heads back to his own room.

Cas squints at the box, then shrugs. What did he know about human ailments? He couldn't heal himself, so conventional medicine it is. He watches with fascination as the bubbles spring to life in the glass before swallowing it all.

A small belch later, he decides to go back to bed, sure that he'll feel better in the morning. Or...later in the morning.

**xxxxx**

A couple hours later, chills sweep over Castiel, making him shiver uncontrollably, even under the blankets. He notices that while his stomach feels better, his head aches and feels like it's stuffed with cotton. Trying to figure out what is ailing him  _now_ , the only explanation he can come up with is the flu bug that the brothers passed between them.

But...angels can't get sick, so…

Too exhausted to think, Cas drags himself out of bed, looking for a drink of water to soothe his throat. On his way to the kitchen, he runs into Dean, who looks like warm shit on a sidewalk.

He's not even sure how he knows that reference.

"Jesus, Cas. You look like I feel."

"Then I must look really bad."

"Ha.  _Ha_. Come on, I'll give you something to make you feel better." Dean returns to the kitchen, Cas in tow, waving for him to sit at the table. He rummages through the med kit, pulls out a small box, and shakes it. Satisfied at whatever he heard, Dean opens it and takes out a blister pack containing four green pills. "Take two now, and we'll save the other two for later. You'll feel better soon - trust me."

Cas just nods, taking the pills and swallowing them with some water.

Dean nods back, then sneezes into his shoulder. "Ugh. Okay, I'm going back to bed." He claps Cas on the shoulder. "Feel better."

Cas waves as Dean shuffles away, sniffling. He stares at the pack and wonders, " _What would happen if I put these in water like the other ones?_ " But Dean didn't tell him to do that, so he pops the other pills (he  _really_  feels bad) and swallows them down with water from the glass he just used.

A chill hits him, and he shivers in the kitchen, suddenly lonely and cold. He spies the bag of laundry Dean brought in, and digs through it until he finds one of Sam's hoodies. He remembers that Dean likes these hoodie things when he's unwell, so he pulls it over his head, marveling at the soft, thick fabric.

No wonder Dean likes it.

Too tired to go back to his room, Cas plops onto the couch and closes his eyes.

**xxxxx**

It didn't take long at all - less than a half hour, in fact. Cas startles himself awake by sneezing so hard, his head smacks the part of the couch where the cushion wore a little thin, leaving the wooden frame wide open for moments like this. He sniffs, wondering what's going on, when his sinuses prickle and his head snaps forward, " _Hetschh!_ "

What in the world was going on with him? " _HSCHCHH! Heh-TSCHHCH!_ " He's having trouble breathing in between sneezing, which, if he had time to reflect, is seriously alarming.

"Whoa! Are you okay?" Sam hurries over, hair tousled, and one sweat pant leg higher than the other.

Cas tries to answer, but all he could do is, " _TCHHHCH! HRSCHHH!_ "

Sam crouches down, laying a hand on Castiel's shoulder. He opens his mouth to say something, but suddenly twists away, sneezing twice. "Oh God, you're wearing the clothes Dean...De... _hetschhew_! washed in that soap. Take it off, Cas. Hurry!"

Fumbling with the sleeves, Cas, with Sam's help, manages to take off the hoodie. Covering his nose with his shirt, Sam shoves the offending item back in the bag, ties it up, then throws it onto the porch.

Castiel is acutely aware of his burning eyes, the itch in his nose, and the more prominent sensation of having cotton in his head.

Sam returns, handing Cas three red pills. He sniffles. "Here - take these. It'll help with the reaction."

By this point, Cas didn't even think about it. He downs the pills, and would've laughed when the glass of water Sam hands over is the same one he's used all night, except that he didn't care. Pills gone, Sam claps Cas on the shoulder, and disappears back upstairs, sneezing.

Clutching a handful of Kleenex, Cas decides to sit up for a while, muffling the occasional sneeze into the tissue cloud, trying hard not to scratch the hives that sprang up on his arms.

My vessel must be broken, he thinks, defective in some way. If he could just…

Dean barks in his head:  _No mojo!_

Cas sighs. He guesses he just has to sit and wait it out.

**xxxxx**

Almost a couple hours later, Sam and Dean are woken by Bobby, pounding on their door. "Hey...you two prolly need to see this…"

They wake instantly. "What is it, Bobby?" Sam asked, noticing how crooked his pants are.

"It's Cas. He's...just come look."

As Sam straightens out his pant leg situation, Dean pulls on a sweatshirt, chuckling. "I bet he's a little loopy from the cold meds I gave him earlier. This should be fun."

Sam freezes, mid left leg fix. "You what?"

Dean runs fingers through his hair, tossing a  _What?_  look at his brother. "I found him in the hallway, looking sicker than a dog, all stuffed up and probably sporting a fever. He needed something for the congestion. Why?"

Slowly, Sam sits up. "I saw him too, and he was having a reaction to the laundry soap."

"What? How?"

Sam shrugs. "I'm guessing he was cold, because he was wearing one of my hoodies. He couldn't breathe by the time I got to him, so I gave him some allergy medicine."

Dean drags a hand down his face. "When?"

"I dunno - couple hours ago?"

" _Fuck_. C'mon…"

They run downstairs, and almost into Bobby, who's standing in the doorway, watching Castiel in the living room. Joining him, their eyes widen at the sight before them.

Castiel, Angel of the Lord, is seriously, and completely, catatonic. Mouth hanging open, he's sitting on the couch, unaware of his dripping nose, a small trail of drool from the corner of his mouth, or the rhythmic twitch in his right eye.

"Holy shit," Sam breathes.

Bobby nods. "I know. It's my fault - I didn't think he'd react to Alka Seltzer like  _this_."

Both brothers swivel toward Bobby. " _Waitasec_...you gave him medicine, too?"

Bobby arches an eyebrow. "Too?  _You_  gave him something?"

Dean sighs. "Apparently we all did.

"Oh, Jesus Christ...what do we do? Pump his stomach or something?"

"Stomach pumping doesn't sound like anything I wish to be a part of."

They jump at the unexpected sound of his voice.

"I can hear you. I'm celestley. That means I can do stuff that you can't do. Like hear. Things. Quiet things. In other...places."

Everyone freezes a second, then Dean cautiously walks over, head tilted, trying to figure out how bad off the angel really is. His posture hasn't changed, along with the vacant stare at the opposite wall, despite the spoken words.

"Hey, Cas...how're you feeling? Uhm...you may wanna…" He makes little gestures in the air, trying to hint that Cas should wipe his face.

Castiel's eyes drag up to Dean, not really focusing, but at least in the general vicinity. "Wha'?"

Dean sighs, snags a couple tissues and wipes the drool. He draws the line at the snot, though. "Take these and wipe your nose, Cas."

Cas blinks at the proffered tissues, clearly struggling to understand the command. "Why? It'll just leak again. It's been leaking for hours. I don't see the point. Why can't I wait until it's done leaking, then clean it all up at one time?"

Dean sees the logic in this, but he also sees a trail getting dangerously close to Castiel's upper lip. "A little help, here?" He calls over his shoulder.

"You wiped my nose all the time when we were kids," Sam offers.

Dean shoots death rays at Sam, making him flinch.

Under his breath, Bobby mutters, "He's  _your_ angel…"

_More_ glaring.

Bobby chuckles. "When was the last pill he took?"

"I'm sitting right here," Cas announces. "You could just ask me."

Bobby sighs. "Alright. When was - "

"I have no idea."

"Right. Imma make some coffee. Pepto was around two." He scuttles to the kitchen.

Sam scratches his chin. "I gave him allergy meds around...five? Ish?"

"And I'm thinking I was around four. Awesome." Dean hangs his head and slowly stands. "So we have, what, at least a couple more hours of this."

"Eleven."

"Eleven what?" Dean eyes Cas.

"If you add up all the times, you get eleven. I was always good at arithmetic. One of the only things I'm good at. Unless you count fucking up."

_Whoa…_

Sam's eyes are wide at Castiel's word choice. "Uh...Cas…"

"I mean I am  _really_ good at fucking shit up, if you think about it and oh, oh yes, okay, I see the dilemma with the dripping. Hold on." He catches the trail just as it reaches his lip, and wipes his face, smearing and generally making a mess. "What the...this...this isn't working…" His movements are haphazard and clumsy, not addressing the viscosity of the offending substance.

"Goddammit. Here, Cas, lemme...just... _gimme the damn Kleenex_." WIth a huff, Dean wipes Castiel's face, making sure it's dry and clean. When he finishes, he grabs a few more, takes a deep breath, and tents them over Castiel's nose. "Okay, big guy. Blow." There's a strangled guffaw behind him, followed by hastily retreating steps.

Cas nods, does as he's told, and Dean just...deals with it. He looks down at the angel, and sits next to him on the couch, depositing the used tissues on the floor.

Cas doesn't move.

Dean nudges him.

Cas flops with the jostling, but otherwise remains still.

Sighing,  _Dean_ flops back against the couch, trying to figure out the best way to get Cas to lie down and sleep this off.

"An angel's job is to preserve God's Will. He loves you humans, and we are supposed to protect you. Why can't I do my job?" Cas then turns, liquid blue eyes locked on Dean, questioning, seeking an explanation that Dean knows he cannot give. "What is wrong with me?"

Dean rubs his eye, avoiding Castiel's gaze, thinking it's too early to be having conversations like this.

Cas nods. "Exactly. That's what I mean. Why can't I sense that this is not the appropriate time to discuss it? All the other angels can interact on earth without issue. I just always make things worse." He returns to staring across the room.

Dean pulls his lips into his mouth, frowning. "Cas...you - "

"I think I should zap away, heal myself, then let what happens, happen. It would make it safer for you, and I won't have to deal with this leaking situation, which, do you see what I mean? It's back again...why is it back again? Seriously, how do I make it stop?"

Dean hands over some tissues. "Just keep wiping, Cas, and no, you're not going anyway or using your powers." He reaches up to see if Cas has a fever.

" _Yes_ , Dean, I'm still here."

Dean rolls his eyes. He's pleased that the angel's skin doesn't feel warm, but he doesn't think he's that lucky, himself, though. Muffling a cough into his arm, Dean decides to undertake Operation Get Through To Castiel. "Listen, man, if it weren't for you, I'd still be in Hell."

"But I didn't get to you in time."

"In time for what?"

"In time to prevent you from breaking the first seal."

"Oh…" Dean had no idea there was a timeline on that rescue.

"There was, and I blew it."

"First off," Dean starts ticking reasons on his fingers. "...you gotta stop reading my mind. It's creepy and makes me unable to think about porn. Second...let's talk about this timeline thing. Why did you blow it?"

Cas sucks in some wayward drool and swallows. "There was an unexpected host of demons near the entrance point. I believe someone in our ranks betrayed us, so they were ready for our invasion."

Dean blinks. "So... _wait_. Really? You...you fought through a bunch of demons to get to me?" He sits forward, frowning, because something isn't adding up.

Cas nods, sneezing messily into the open air, requiring Dean to once again, mop him up.

"So let me get this straight. The reason it took you so long, was because an angel, who wanted me to break the first seal, ratted you out, and you had an unexpected war?"

"Yes."

"Yes? Okay - then, I don't get what the problem is. How is that your fault?"

Cas sighs. "Angels should overcome any and all obstacles in order to achieve their objectives." He frowns, and his head starts to list to the side, towards Dean. "I am not good at that."

"Uh…" Dean fumbles with words as it becomes apparent that Cas is slumping toward him. He scoots inch after inch away, but any more and Cas will end up on his lap. So, Dean resigns to Cas resting his head on his shoulder. "All better now?"

"Yes, actually. I believe the room is slowing down."

Dean cranes his neck to see if Bobby or Sam are returning, because really,  _any_  company would be aces right about now. But they're nowhere in sight, the assholes.

Dean drags a hand down his face, knowing he has to address the situation before Cas  _does_  use his powers in a fit of frustration and misery. Besides, he grudgingly admits, he  _does_ bear one third of the responsibility for this situation.

"Listen, Cas. You're not a...a fuck up. Okay? There's no reason to think that you are. You saved me. No matter what,  _you saved me_. If it weren't for you, I'd still be there." Dean shrugs. "If I had to choose, I'd rather be here dealing with all this shit...with Sam, with you, with Bobby...than being down there with Alastair." He almost chokes on that name, but passes it off with another cough.

Cas senses his unease, and sighs.

"Besides," Dean adds, stretching his neck to try and catch a glimpse of Castiel's face. "You're the best comic relief a hunter could ask for."

_Now_  Cas huffs, struggling to sit up.

_Dammit_. Dean reaches over, grabs Cas around the shoulders and pulls him back. "Okay, okay. Look. Part of having free will, is making mistakes. It comes with the package...like...the complimentary french fry when you order onion rings."

"Are they like churros?"

"No, and that's not the point. The point is, you may be a celestial being, but you're not God. And if you  _really_  believe that God is the only perfect thing around, well, then by default, you aren't perfect. You may want to hold yourself to a higher standard, but you aren't perfect. Can't change that. You always do your best, man, whether you make good or bad choices, and whether or not I like your choices. At least you're making them on your own, and I know you're trying."

It's quiet, and Dean starts to think Cas passed out during his little speech.

Then, in a small voice, he hears, "I feel like shit, Dean."

Dean sighs. "I know, Cas. I do, too."

Both the hidden and obvious message in that short exchange isn't lost on either party, stoned or not.

"Alright - coffee's all done, strong and hot. Drink up, gentlemen." Bobby's holding out their drinks, giving no indication that he heard their conversation.

Cas sits up, and both take their respective mugs. A couple sips later, Dean squints up at Bobby. "This tastes weird."

Bobby flaps a hand at him. "You're so stuffed up, everything'll taste weird. Just drink it."

When they're half empty, Cas lets out a huge yawn, with Dean right behind him. Bobby swipes both cups, mumbling something about a refill.

He hurries to the kitchen, where Sam's waiting.

"Well?" Sam whispers, anxiously chewing on a fingernail.

Bobby rolls his eyes. "Jesus, you're like a girl waitin' to get asked out. They drank it. Should be out in no time."

Sam lets out a breath. "Thank God. But did we really have to spike Dean's?"

Bobby snorts. "After that little share-fest? You think he wants to face either of us?"

"Good point."

**xxxxx**

Fifteen minutes later, Cas and Dean are comfortably snoring together on the couch. Castiel's drooling on Dean's shoulder, but he doesn't seem to mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...yeah...Cas wasn't trying to prevent the breaking of Seal 1. But that notion fit, so...tiny AU? Sure...


	4. Season 10 Sick Sam

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Do you think you could write a sick Sam fic for me between seasons 10 and 11, but without the darkness being a pressing issue, like maybe they're at a standstill with it for the time being or something. I would really like something where Sam gets sick but instead of trying to hide it from Dean like he usually does he just comes right out and tells Dean he doesn't feel well because he misses Dean being his big brother and just wants Dean to take care of him again.

It was quiet.

" _H'rshchh_!"

 _Mostly_  quiet.

Sam muffled sneeze after sneeze into his blanket, wondering if there was Kleenex somewhere in the bunker.

Probably not.

He was hiding in his bedroom, trying to give Dean as much space as possible. Since the removal of the Mark, Sam wasn't sure what was going on in Dean's head, and given that their last meaningful interaction involved Sam almost being murdered…

Well.

It's not that he didn't  _want_  Dean around. He was just pretty sure  _Dean_  didn't want  _him_  around. Afterall, Charlie's dead, Cas is missing, an unrivaled evil was, yet again, unleashed upon the earth by your's truly, so  _yes_...Sam was fairly confident Dean wasn't eager to see him.

But Sam felt like crap.

And when Sam felt like crap...he needed Dean, regardless of the circumstances.

Sitting up, he frowned at the clock. The numbers wouldn't quit moving around, the fuckers, so Sam couldn't tell the time. He was pretty sure he had a fever, but he had no idea how high it was or what to do about it.

So, he sat there, shivering, hating the way his head hurt, his body hurt, his  _heart_  hurt.

Figuring it couldn't get any worse, he lurched to his feet, grabbed a scratchy blanket, and began the search for Dean.

**xxxxx**

It was quiet.

Completely, and utterly quiet, in his head.

He wasn't used to it.

The Mark was an incessant battering of whispers, pulling Dean towards darkened tunnels, promising satisfaction and release that he never thought would end.

But now it was gone, and it turned out, the quiet was just as unnerving. Dean kept waiting for the murmurs to start, but they didn't, leaving him to make his own decisions, free of unrelenting rage and the constant thirst for spilled blood.

He was hiding in his bedroom, trying to give Sam as much space as possible. Since the removal of the Mark, Dean wasn't sure what was going on inside his brother's head. Given that their last meaningful interaction involved Dean almost killing Sam,  _again_ …

Well.

It's not that he didn't  _want_  Sam around. He was just pretty sure  _Sam_  didn't want  _him_  around. Afterall, Dean's said and done some doozies in the last several months, not to mention the last  _week_  (murder in their home? Telling Sam he should've died in Charlie's place?) so  _yes_ , Dean's fairly certain Sam didn't want to see him.

He dragged a hand down his face, staring at the clock. Dean needed coffee to take care of the cobwebs and maybe get him moving on...something. Anything other than sitting in his room feeling like crap.

He made his way to the kitchen, sluggishly dumping coffee into the machine. He was trying to figure out whether to make extra for Sam when a thunderous sneeze from the doorway made him spill water all over the counter.

" _What the_  - " He spun around, ready to fight off whatever danger was...sneezing in their kitchen? only to stop short at the sight before him.

Sam, mostly huddled in a blanket (it hung off one shoulder like a toga), was staring wide-eyed at the coffee pot Dean was wielding.

Dean quickly set it down, holding up his hands to show good faith. "Sorry! You, uh, scared the shit outta me." He lowered his arms, taking stock of his brother. Sam looked  _terrible_. Red cheeks, matching nose, hair tousled in fifteen directions, bleary-eyed and shivering.

 _Fuck_.

Sam blinked at him, swallowing carefully around a newly discovered sore throat. "Sorry…" he croaked.

Dean reached for a towel and began mopping up the water slowly spreading across the counter. "No..s'okay. Just...surprised me. That's all." Not making eye contact, Dean refilled the coffee pot, making sure all the water got into the machine this time.

An awkward silence blanketed the kitchen, interrupted by Sam's occasional sniffling.

Remembering that he put Tylenol in one of the cabinets, Dean figured that was why Sam showed up. Fiddling with the towel, he said, "I'll, uh, be outta your way in a minute. Just…" He finished with a gesture at the coffee pot.

Sam plopped into a chair, staring at the blanket that magically fell off his other shoulder. "You don't hafta go." He sneezed again, this one rocking him forward, and he stayed there, until the next two ripped out of him. Slowly sitting back up, he wiped his forehead. " _I_  should go..."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "You look like crap, you know." The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. Biting his lip, Dean winced. The last thing Sam needed was Dean trying to be a big brother again. If Dean learned  _anything_  over the last year or so, it was that Sam  _does not, in any way_ , want -

"I  _feel_  like crap. I feel like more crap than I've ever felt like crap before. This." Sam paused to cough. "Was looking for you.  _Can't_...dunno what to do." He paused to sneeze. "I feel so...crappy." This pause was to catch his breath. "And I can't find Kleenex. This is our home. Why isn't there one stupid box of Kleenex? Do you have any?"

Sam was looking at him with those Eyes, just wanting a fucking tissue, and wait,  _home?_  Dean blinked, even shook his head a little. "Uh...no, I don't...wait. You, what?" Did he say he was  _looking for Dean?_

Sam pulled his knees to his chest, coughing into his shoulder while simultaneously trying in vain to cover himself with the blanket that was now sliding onto the floor. Unable to watch the spectacle any longer, Dean walked over. "Here... _hold on_ …" Lips pressed together, he picked up the blanket, wrapping it snugly around his brother's large frame, eliciting a sigh and a head loll in Dean's direction.

" _Yes_. See? I can't...even with a  _blanket_. I just  _can't_." He leaned his head against Dean, sighing again.

Without thinking, Dean brushed wayward hair off Sam's face, shocked at the heat coming off his brother. "Jesus, Sam, you're burning up."

Sam smacked his brother. "Yes. What I'm saying. Feel like crap. Need..." His voice caught as his body shuddered, burrowing further into the blanket.

Dean took a deep breath. Going for cautious, he asked, "What do you need, Sam?"

Sam blinked at him. "Huh?"

"What do you need?"

"Why're you asking  _me?_ "

Now  _Dean_  blinked at  _Sam_. "Huh?"

Sam shook his head. "You  _know_. Why ask me?"

"Uh...because when I don't, you get mad at me?"

Sam's brow wrinkled, as he thought that one through. "No.  _Yes_ , but... _no_."

Dean rolled his eyes. And herein lie the problem: Sam's classic double standard.  _Know when to take care of me, and when not to._  Mixed signals, complex messages, shifting rules for various circumstances.

This situation, though, was fairly straightforward, and Sam was, despite the fever, being fairly obvious.

He wanted his big brother.

"Sam, you sure? I mean…"

Without warning, the little shit sneezed again, this time right on Dean's shirt, rubbing his nose back and forth afterwards, and thunking his head on Dean's chest in a dry spot.

 _Oh, okay_.

Dean sighed. "C'mon, big guy." Somehow, he managed to get Sam back in bed, even tucked in, blanket up to his chin. Sam settled back against his pillow, one eye peeled open, locked on his brother. "I'll, uh, go get you some Tylenol and Kleenex. Okay?"

Finally satisfied, Sam hummed, closing both eyes and falling asleep.

**xxxxx**

When Sam woke, it wasn't by choice. Something dripped down the back of his throat, triggering a massive coughing fit.

The numbers on the clock still weren't cooperating, so he had no idea how long he'd been asleep. "Dean?" He rasped, flopping back on the pillow, rubbing his eyes.

No answer.

Why no answer? Did Sam imagine Dean putting him to bed like a ten-year-old?

Sam's eyes flew open.  _Wait_...did Sam imagine practically  _asking_  Dean to put him to bed like a ten-year-old?

Oh,  _shit_.

He wasn't...he didn't mean...well, yes, he did. He  _did_  mean it. He recognized the double standard. He understood how unfair it was. He knew he didn't deserve it.

Didn't mean he didn't want it.

But Dean was  _gone_ , now, and Sam was  _alone_ , and he  _still_  felt like crap, and now he  _drove his brother away_  after  _just_  getting him back, and -

…

\- and footsteps sounded in the hallway, along with the rustling of plastic bags.

"Settle down, Sam. I just went to the store."

Dean pushed open the door, giving Sam the once over before placing two bags on the dresser.

Sam coughed into his wrist. "How'd you - "

"Your feet. You shuffle them in bed when you're anxious. Since you're using these rough, crappy sheets, I could hear you down the hallway."

 _Oh_.

Dean peeled open and handed over a large box of tissues. "Here - you can stop using my shirt, now."

Sam winced, taking the box and digging out a couple for immediate use. "Sorry about that…"

Dean shrugged. "No big deal. Got you some medicine, juice is in the fridge, that fruity tea you like, too."

Tissues over his face, Sam stared at his brother. His  _brother_.

 _Back_.

Taking care of him like the last year didn't happen. Like the last  _couple_  years didn't happen.

Swallowing, he pushed aside the guilt over Charlie and the Darkness and Gadreel and everything else. "Dean…"

"I know, Sammy. We're good."

 _Sammy_.

It hit him hard, right in the gut, and Sam hurried to blow his nose and do whatever he could to mask the relief, the joy, the  _everything_  that one word brought to the table. Again, seeming to understand, Dean took an extra minute arranging and rearranging the bottle of Tylenol and Nyquil on the dresser, giving Sam a moment to get it together.

When he was sure Sam settled down, Dean brought him some pills and a bottle of water. "So. Take these, and let's get that fever down, okay?" His voice was gentle, making Sam's eyes water once again. Unable to answer, Sam just nodded, following directions.

Dean fiddled with the cap from the water bottle while Sam drank, and when Sam was done, he recapped the bottle, setting it on the nightstand. "Alrighty. I'll, uh, leave so you can get some rest."

Sam's feet shuffled on the bed.

Dean paused, reaching out to bury his fingers in Sam's hair, rubbing his scalp, trying not to grimace at the sweat. Sam's eyes closed, almost drowning in how good it felt.

"Want me to stay?" he whispered.  _I'll ask, but you have to be honest. I can't guess anymore._

Sam wet his lips and nodded. "Yeah…"  _As long as you keep asking…_

Dean snorted. "Scoot over."


	5. Bobby Caretaker

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: How about Bobby taking care of both of them because they were idjits and decided to hunt in bad weather?
> 
> Me: Why, that'd be lovely. Thank you.

 

Bobby's pacing the floor, checking the clock every fucking second because those two morons aren't here, yet. Sighing, he tosses his baseball cap on the table and pours another drink.

Don't hunt the dog this weekend, he told them. Weather's turning to shit, he told them. Mudslides are rampant in that park this time of year, he told them.

Did they listen?

_Duh_.

Now he's sweating and worrying like a first time mother, having lost contact with his boys hours ago.

Last he knew, the dog got taken out, but both brothers were caught in one of those forewarned mudslides. Bobby's assuming their phones got lost or broken or something.

_Goddammit, where are they?_

It's another hour before the Impala pulls up. By now, Bobby's had enough booze to seriously go off on them, regardless of their condition. He flings open the front door, snarl in place, ready to jump the second he sees them.

The plan, familiar to all parents when simultaneously angry and worried, fizzles away as soon as the car doors open, and the two idjits stumble into the yard.

Bobby gives them a minute, watching undetected, so he can accurately determine their needs before the bullshitting begins. Dean was driving, which is a good sign, but he's limping badly, which is also a sign that while hurt, Sam must be worse. Dean pauses on his way around the trunk, sneezing tightly against his wrist.

Bobby sighs, mentally calculating how much Kleenex he has in relation to how bad Dean sounds.

He's gonna have to go to the store.

Dean's  _covered_  in mud. Hair plastered to his head, clothes sagging from the weight, squishing-in-his-boots, covered in mud.

More awesome.

Sam makes it out of the car, also mud-covered, but he's clutching his arm to his chest and is  _in no way_  steady. He looks a little lost, indicating a possible concussion, and the cough rumbling from deep within his chest sounds like it's begging for antibiotics.

Well. All this from a simple hunt that could've gone without a hitch, if they just listened.

But since when did a Winchester just listen?

_Exactly_.

Bobby strolls outside, trying not to look like he's been freaking out for the better part of the evening. "Wanna hand?"

Dean looks up, both sheepish and relieved. "Yeah, Sam...hit his head…" He breaks off, breath hitching and sneezing again into the crook of his arm. "Maybe fractured his arm. Couldn't tell in the rain."

Bobby nods. Of course not. Rain's an asshole like that. "And you?" He juts his chin at Dean, while wrapping an arm around Sam, who's looking at him like he can't quite place him. "Come on, Sam," he mumbles, giving Dean a pointed look.  _Well?_  He's also trying not to be irritated by the mud that's now clinging to  _his_  clothing.

Dean waves him off, limping (squelching with every step) to Sam's other side to help. "I'm fi... _hetsch'yuu!_  fine. Sam's the one to worry about."

Bobby rolls his eyes. Of course he is. "Sure. Let's get you both inside."

They get up the stairs, Sam still staring. "Bobby?"

"Well, look who gets five points. Come on - sit down and lemme see that arm."

Sam dutifully sits, coughing once again, and wincing as his arm gets jostled. "Dean needs help. I think he...hurt his leg?"

Dean sat heavily beside him, wiping his face and shaking his head, smearing mud everywhere. "Don't worry about me, Sammy. Let Bobby patch you up." Dean looks up at Bobby. "Not sure on a concussion. He's been waking for me the whole ride here, though, so…" He shrugs, and leans back, sighing, trying to control his shivering.

Bobby nods, gently removing Sam's jacket, knowing that Dean's in more discomfort than he's saying  _(duh)_  because he's letting Bobby do this exam on his own. "Dean, why don't you go wash that mud off?"

Dean shakes his head. "I wanna see if - "

"Lemme try that again.  _Dean_ , why don't you go wash that mud off before you get it all over my house and spend the next two days cleaning it all up?" He offers a sweet smile, which, in no way, gives room for negotiating.

Dean blinks, looking down at himself as if for the first time. "Oh.  _Right_. Okay. Just… _jus…_ " He would've finished that thought if he wasn't about to sneeze again, but he is, and he does, and the only reason Bobby doesn't physically push him is Dean's bad leg. "I'll, uh…"

"Yeah, yeah, you'll be right back, you're a phone call away, let you know if I need you. Just go get cleaned up, Dean."

Dean limps away, seemingly oblivious to Bobby's sass, dragging a duffel bag up the stairs.

Bobby figures that if the leg was that bad, he wouldn't be going upstairs when there's a bathroom right around the corner. The cold Dean seems to have caught is probably the more pressing issue.

Sam hisses as Bobby touches a sore spot in his shoulder. "Right there?" Sam bites his lip, nodding, then winces as the head movement disagrees with him. "At the very least, you pulled a muscle pretty good. Maybe tore something. You'll have to get this mud off you so I can see better."

Sam's nodding again, lips pressed together as that awful cough bubbles in his chest.

Unable to resist any longer, Bobby asks, "What the hell happened?"

Sam smears his hair to one side. "Dog was huge. Dean shot it. The ground moved. We fell." He looks up at Bobby. "I hit my head."

Well, that's the kind of story you get when you ask the potentially concussed. "Okee dokee, then. Where'd that cough come from? You weren't sick when you left here."

Sam's face scrunches up. "Yeah, I was."

Bobby stares at him. "You were already sick when you left for this hunt?"

Sam's eyes do that thing, where they make you feel like an asshole for asking a question. "Dean needed to hunt. He's been so…" He trailed off, making lame gestures with his hands, as if that was the best way to end the sentence.

Ever since John died,  _Dean's_  need to keep moving became  _Sam's_  need to keep moving, regardless of whether that motion was a good idea. Bobby sighs. "You two are gonna kill me, I swear. Okay...as soon as Dean's clean and dry, it'll be your turn. Meanwhile, let me check your head and make sure you aren't gonna roll your eyes back and pass out on my floor."

Sam nods seriously, wiping his nose with his sleeve, which really, what was the point of that?  _He's covered in mud._

Bobby snags a kitchen towel off the counter and starts mopping up Sam's face, uncovering a cut above one eye and a bruised cheek in the process. He checks Sam's head, gets as much mud off as he can, and by the time Sam starts shivering, Dean returns with wet hair, a t-shirt and shorts.

Seriously?

His teeth are chattering, and blood is dribbling down his thigh and calf, but he makes a beeline for Sam as if he was perfectly fine.

"Hold it!" Bobby barks, stopping Dean in his tracks. "Sit your ass down, before you fall over." Dean's mouth opens to protest but Bobby cuts him off with a wave. "Sam's fine. Head's got a good sized bump, arm's probably a pulled muscle, not a fracture. Can't see much until the mud's off him. I'm more worried about this cough he's sharing. So, let him get cleaned up while I look you over."

"Bobby, I - "

"Boy, I didn't ask."

Dean swallows, sharing a look with Sam who's not-so-subtly trying to tell him to just do as he's told. Mumbling a, "Yessir…" he sits at the table, anxiously watching Sam weave his way to the first floor bathroom.

Because there's a  _first floor bathroom_.

Bobby sighs, going to the living room to get a blanket and to make sure Sam  _got_  to the bathroom in one piece. Happy that Sam found his destination, Bobby settles the blanket around Dean's shoulders, pointing at his head. "You're dripping all over your shirt. You were supposed to come out clean and  _dry_."

Muffling a sneeze into the blanket, Dean sighs back, pulling the warm cover tight and shifting in his seat. "I know. I just...I was worried."

Bobby nods, grunting a bit as he crouches down to examine the now visible gash on Dean's leg. "Well, this is a beaut. You get it in the mudslide?"

"Yeah," Dean grits his teeth as Bobby pokes and prods the muscles around the cut. "Must've snagged it on something on the way down."

Bobby pulls himself up. "Needs a couple stitches. I'll be right back. Don't. Move." He gives Dean his most stern look, which ends up totally wasted, because Dean's ducked his head back into the blanket, sneezing. "And while I'm up, I'll get you some cold medicine."

Dean's eyes widen. "No - can't be drugged up. What if Sam - "

"Sam's gonna be drugged up, too, soon enough. You went hunting when you weren't at your best, and that's the number one way to get yourself killed." Dean swallows hard, but says nothing. Bobby softens his tone now that he has Dean's attention. "Let me take care of you."

Dean swallows again, nodding, twisting the blanket in his fist.

"Alright, then."

**xxxxx**

Within an hour, Dean's stitched up, warmed up, and absolutely stuffed up. Sam's got muscle patches on his shoulder, butterfly bandages on his eyebrow, an ice pack on his head, and a hot water bottle pressed against his chest.

Both boys are situated in their bedroom, a humidifier humming in a corner, and Bobby humming in the doorway.

"Right. Now here's the next phase of this plan. I'm gonna go to the store. You're gonna get some sleep. You're not leaving here for at least a few days, so use this time to reflect on why that is, so we can have a nice chat when I return."

They scoot further under the blankets in a poor attempt at hiding from the blatant scolding. Bobby just shakes his head and closes the door.

"Stupid, stubborn, pains in my ass. Both of 'em. I swear to God, every time they come here, they're worse than when they last left." Bobby passes the time it takes to get into his car by muttering to himself, feeling better at the release of all his pent up worry.

He pulls into the parking lot of the twenty-four hour Wal-Mart. He hates being around so many people, but he knows it's the only place open with everything he'll need.

It's a clean trip through the store...cathartic, actually. Bobby's been taking care of these two for years, and even though there was a patch of time when he didn't see them regularly, helping Sam and Dean was like salting and burning a body. He pauses by the Kleenex as he realizes his references are all fucked up.

The cart's getting loaded with first aid supplies, cold medicines, and food. Sam's tea, Dean's coffee, those popsicles Sam likes for his throat, the cherry flavored anything Dean has to swallow, super strong tissues because the cheap ones aren't enough...the list went on and on, the cart continued to fill, and Bobby felt better by the time he finished.

Of course, he could've had it all ready if he'd only known what was going on.

Grumbling in his head once more, Bobby paid for everything, loaded the car, and headed home.

**xxxxx**

Even though he left strict instructions, Bobby's relieved to find the Impala still parked in the yard. He remembers a time when John would sneak off, tail between his legs, afraid to confront his own demons as he just tried to do the best he could. Despite everything, Bobby misses John. And if  _Bobby_  misses him, the boys must be... _yeah_.

It takes a few trips, but he gets everything unloaded and into the kitchen. As soon as he finishes, Dean shuffles in, bundled up and yawning. "Hey...deed a hand?"

Bobby blinks at him. "Jesus, you're congested."

Dean nods miserably. "Yeah, it hit whed you left." He tried to sniffle, but it ended up a snorty-strangled sound.

Bobby chuckles a little, digging through a bag and handing over some tissues. "Here. Use these. I'll get your medicine out."

Dean thunks his ass into a chair, massaging his temples with one hand while opening the box with the other. "Thangks…"

Bobby waves him off, still digging for the right box. "None needed. I'd just like to know what you were thinking going off on a hunt,  _sick_ , with a sick partner. Where the hell - oh, here it is." He pulls out the box of liquid medicine, waggling it at Dean. "Got the liquid in case your throat was too sore to swallow the pills."

Dean blows his nose, then swallows. "Dot sore...yet."

"Yup. It's the  _yet_  I'm worried about. Got pills, too. Which do you want now?"

Dean sniffs, tossing the used Kleenex in the plastic bag Bobby holds out for him. "Uh...liquid."

_That's what I thought_ , Bobby sings to himself in a super smug tone. "Liquid it is." He cracks through the plastic, shooting Dean a look as he pours the red stuff into the measuring cup. "Well?"

Dean sighs, leaning back in his chair. He takes the cup, chucks it down, then sneezes messily into more Kleenex. "I duddo. Thought we could do it. It killed three people. Didd't wadt bore people dead because I was sick." By the end of the excuse, the stupidity of it was apparent to anyone listening, including Dean. He folds his arms on the table, resting his head on them. "It was a bad idea."

Bobby snorts. He says nothing while he continues to put the supplies away, letting Dean stew for a bit. He knows there isn't much he has to say - Dean already knew the truth. When he finishes, he holds up a thermometer. "So. Which end?"

Dean swivels his head towards him.  _Seriously?_

Bobby grins. "I'm kidding. In the ear we go. C'mere." The little beep goes off a few seconds later. "Well, now. If this were a class, you'd have an A-plus."

Dean peeks at the reading. "Extra credit, too."

"Yup."

Bobby stands there, figuring,  _what the hell_. Placing a hand on Dean's head, he tames the bed head, offering a moment of physical comfort to a man who rarely gets it, yet needs it more than anyone Bobby knows. Dean sighs, closes his eyes, and rests his head on his arms once more.

Bobby knows that the fever's letting him get away with more than usual...that the fever's  _encouraging_  him to  _give_  more than usual. It's just that those damn red cheeks and droopy eyes make Bobby's heart ache, and if Dean asked for the moon right then, Bobby'd find the spell to deliver it on a plate.

After one last scalp rub, Bobby gently prods Dean with his foot. "Okay...time for bed. Get some rest."

Dean sniffles, clutching the tissue box, and scuffs across the floor. When he reaches the doorway, he turns back. "Really...thangks, Bobby."

"Anytime, son."

**xxxxx**

It's much later that he tangles with that which is Sam.

Bobby remembers a very young Sam, stubborn even at the age of three, crawling into Bobby's lap and demanding stories every minute. Bobby's convinced that Sam's love of lore and research comes from Bobby sharing said lore and research in the form of "stories" to his young charge, particularly when the little guy was sick and needing constant supervision.

Adult Sam, when sick, doesn't need constant supervision. But he  _does_  like it, or at least some form of it. He doesn't like the attention anymore (Bobby blames John for that), but he still likes the stories.

So when Bobby's looking up info on a Lang Suir, it's almost predictable that's when Sick Sam decides to make an appearance. The confusion from the head bop seems to have cleared up, but the heavy cough and sore shoulder have not. For a second, Bobby wonders if he could actually hold Sam on his lap.

"Hey there...what're you doing up?" Bobby slowly stands and stretches, coming around his desk to guide a miserable looking Sam to the armchair.

Sam shrugs. "Woke up coughing, couldn't go back to sleep."  _Didn't want to wake Dean, so…_

Bobby nods, understanding. This happened a lot, too. "How about some hot tea?" Sam nods. "One hot beverage coming right up." Normally, Bobby'd spike it, encourage Sam to sleep a little more. But he knows that mucus relief medicine should get into Sam as well, and while it would be amusing, he doesn't think the two should mix.

As Bobby heats the water, he knows exactly what's happening in the library. Sam's peeking at the book open on the desk, formulating a series of questions that ultimately will turn into the story that'll occupy his brain for the next several hours, both consciously and unconsciously.

They're like clockwork, these two.

He returns with a steaming mug and some pills, hiding a grin at Sam's guilty face, caught leaning over the desk. He's supposed to be gruff, right? Right.

"Sorry, Bobby...I was just... _Malaysian_  banshees?! I didn't even know they - " He broke off, coughing wetly into his sleeve, leaning on the desk as the fit leaves him dizzy.

Bobby sets the mug on the desk and helps Sam back to the chair. "I didn't either, until one turned up in Virginia." He gestures at Sam to crank the lever and raise the footrest so the blanket he's getting doesn't rest on the floor more than on the patient. "Apparently, they only left an egg under one armpit."

Sam almost chokes on that. "What?!"

As Bobby hands over the pills and tea, he makes his way back to his desk, filling Sam in on the lore behind a lang suir, how this one got here, and who was handling the hunt. Little by little, Sam settles into the chair, legs pulled to his chest, cradling another hot water bottle. That awful cough seems to have abated now that he's taken some medicine and was sitting up.

All this, Bobby takes in as he prattles on, making small adjustments to Sam's care as needed. He even snuck a pillow under Sam's head to keep it from hanging over the side.

Bobby knows...every now and then, Sam needs some down time...a chance to process, a puzzle to muddle over, a minute to breathe. This is one of those times.

Eventually, Sam's watching him through sleep-heavy eyes. "Thanks, Bobby."

Bobby leans back, lacing his hands behind his head. "Didn't do nothin', just sharing the hunt."

Sam huffs through his nose, "Yeah, okay."

Bobby winks at him. "So you wanna hear how to kill one?"

**xxxxx**

It takes about a week for the various ailments to clear up. No one ended up seeing a doctor - Bobby was able to handle it all on his own. As they're packing to leave, he's confronted with the same bag of mixed emotions every time they go...glad to have his house back, not-as-glad to lose his kids.

They're on the porch, Bobby pawning off the last of the supplies in case they need them on the road.

"If you two do something stupid like this again - "

"We probably will…"

"I'll kick your asses from here to California - "

"That'd be a lot of ass kicking…"

"And when I'm done with you - "

"He'd probably lose steam somewhere in Idaho…"

"I'll burn your books and slash her tires."

_Screeching halt._

"Yessir."

"That's what I thought."


	6. Sammy vs The Flu

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A request was made for Stomach-Flu Sam, so know that going in. While I won't write overly graphic stomach fics, Sam's definitely spending time face first in the can.

Sam sinks into the Impala after the third interview that day. Not one of them have been cooperative, and his head decided to follow suit and pound against his skull. He's alternating between sweating and shivering, sometimes accomplishing both at the same time. His suit feels too tight, the fabric's itching his skin, and the whole damn thing is just so  _heavy_.

Dean settles behind the wheel, taking in everything  _Sam_  before starting the car. They hit a wall with this case, and Dean figures they should regroup at the motel with lunch and plot their next move. Sam's not talking, instead pressing his face against the window, hoping that the sort-of cool glass will make his head feel better. Dean slowly pulls away from the curb, heading back to the motel, trying to determine how to make Sam admit he's sick, so he'll relax and sleep it off.

They drive all of five minutes, when Sam rocks forward, sneezing into a tissue.

Dean huffs. "That's it. You're sick. Don't deny it - you are. So here's the new plan,  _and so help me, Sammy_ , don't you fucking argue with me. You're going back to the motel, you're getting into bed, and you're going to sleep."

After a pathetic sniffle, Sam whispers into his tissue, "Yeah, okay."

"I mean it, Sam. Quit acting like nothing's wrong. You... _what?_ "

There's a sad little sniffle from the passenger seat. "I said, yeah, okay. I feel like absolute shit." He sneezes again, groaning afterwards. "I'm fucking  _done_."

Dean's mouth opens and closes, brow wrinkled in confusion as the argument poised on his lips has nowhere to go. "Oh. Well... _yeah_ , okay, then." He nods, rolling with the attitude shift and mapping a path to a drug store. "Gonna stop and get you some stuff then it's back to the motel, okay?"

"Sounds good...thanks." Sam leans his head on the window, eyes closed, tissues balled in his fist.

Dean nods. "Sure thing." He didn't want the argument, but he feels cheated of it all the same.

**xxxxx**

This thing has all the signs of a nasty cold. Fever, sneezing, coughing, chills, headache...the whole package. Dean's wiped out the store's stock of Kleenex and cold medicine, doing whatever he can do make Sam comfortable.

Hell, there's even a little humidifier in the corner of the room.

Dean's feeling pretty proud of himself for being on top of it, and feeling relaxed that Sam's allowing Dean to do his thing. It's been pretty uneventful, actually.

So naturally, on day two, things have to go to shit.

Whenever Sam shifts in bed, he moans a little, like rolling over takes colossal effort. He's breathing weird, too, sometimes in rapid bursts, like he's in pain.

"What hurts, Sam?"

Sam half-heartedly shrugs while face first in the pillow. "Dunno…"

"You don't know?"

"Everything just...aches. I dunno…"

Still, he was sneezing and coughing and generally acting all cold-like, so Dean didn't think much of it.

Until he had to.

Dean spends most of the next day at the library (Sam couldn't believe it either). As a reward, he picks up a six-pack and promises himself some "alone time" after he's sure Sam's passed out from Nyquil. The case is still at a standstill, so he's pretty okay passing the night with a pizza and some sweet porn.

_Konnichiwa, free wi-fi..._

He enters the motel room and becomes immediately aware that something is... _off_. "Sammy?" He calls softly, nose wrinkling at a slightly sour smell working its way through the room. He sets down the beer and flicks on the light.

Bed's empty.

Before his brain can imagine all sorts of crap, he hears an exhausted moan coming from the bathroom. Satisfied that he won't need his gun, he sets that on the table, too, and knocks on the door. "Hey there...you okay?"

The answering sound clearly indicates that Sam is not, in any way, okay.

Dean recoils, mouth pulled tight, knowing that not only does he have to go  _in_  there, he has to  _clean up_  whatever's in there.

_Ugh_.

Still...Sam  _needs_ him.

He listens a few seconds.

Sam'll still need him in five minutes.

"So...yeah...you, uh... _yeah_ , okay. You let me know when - "

" _God_...Dean...I - "

Sam's interrupted by... _Sam noises_...and Dean drags a hand down his face. "Okay, kiddo...hold on." He pulls his shirt over his face, casts his eyes heavenward, and opens the door.

Sam's on his knees, arms braced on the toilet seat, looking whiter than snow. His cheeks each display a dark pink splotch, looking very clown make-uppy. His hair, plastered to his face with sweat, is dangerously close to his mouth.

No... _wait_...oh,  _in_  his mouth.

Tired, pleading SamEyes look up at Dean. He starts to say something, but a look of panic sweeps across his face and once again, he's face first in the toilet, shuddering and heaving, and maybe crying a little.

_JesusChrist…_

Dean's shirt slides back into place as he moves to kneel next to his brother. "Oh, Sammy…" He snags a washcloth off the towel rack, wets it, and gently swipes Sam's hair to the side, carefully wiping the ends clean.

Sam spits a couple times, then sags, head resting on his arms. "S'ry…"

Really?

Dean rinses out the cloth, laying it on the back of Sam's neck, eliciting a whimper. "Fuck, tiger, what the hell happened?"

Sam just shakes his head, trying to catch his breath (his mouth  _really_  needs a rinse). "D'nno...jus' hit me."

Without feeling his skin, Dean knows the fever's high, but there's no way meds will stay down. Biting his lip, Dean rubs his hand up and down Sam's back, watching him shiver, his body tense and wrung out. Sam rests his head back on his arms, muffling a weak cough against his skin.

This totally isn't a cold.

Dean sighs. "This is the flu, man. I've been treating the wrong thing."

Sam sniffles, sloppily patting Dean's leg. "Not your fault. Didn't know either." He pauses to cough, tensing in anticipation of more rippling stomach muscles.

Dean decides not to argue, but he's still taking the blame on this one. He drags a hand down his face again, and clears his throat. "Well, we know now. This requires a whole new set of medicine - "

Sam freezes.

"- but I'm not leaving you, so I'll see if Cas can help out."

Sam relaxes.

"And if not, then I'll order delivery." Sam snorts. "Okay...think you're done?"

Head still burrowed against his arm, Sam hesitates, then nods slowly.

"Sweet." Dean reaches up and flushes, pointedly averting his eyes by focusing on rewetting the washcloth. When the coast is clear, "Head up, Sammy."

Sam does as he's told, and Dean cleans him up, more worried at Sam's compliance than anything.

"Think you can rinse with some water?" Dean prefers mouthwash, but…

"Maybe?"

Dean wets the cloth yet again, followed by filling the small glass sitting on the sink. He holds the glass to Sam's lips. "Try this…"

Sam manages to swish and spit, much to his brother's delight. With Dean's help, Sam gets to his feet, clutching Dean's shirt the entire time, needing it to get to his feet. He sways, blinking furiously and tightening his grip on the shirt, almost pulling Dean off-balance. Wrapping an arm around him, Dean maneuvers Sam to the closest bed, helping him under the covers.

Immediately, Sam curls into a ball, still shivering, blanket pulled up to his neck.

"I'm gonna call Cas, see if he - " A nifty guitar riff interrupts him, signalling an incoming call. Brow furrowed, Dean pulls the phone from his pocket. "Huh...it's Cas…" He swipes the screen. "Hey Cas, I was just about to call you."

"Hello, this is Castiel calling."

Dean sighs. "I  _know_ , Cas. I just said hi…"

"How...how did you know I was calling?"

Dean pinches the bridge of his nose. "My phone told me. What's up?" He moves to sit next to Sam, absently handing over tissues and massaging Sam's shoulder.

Cas sighs deeply. "I'm...in need of some assistance."

_Shit_. "Really? Why? 'Cuz  _I_ called  _you_  for help." Sam sneezes harshly, followed by a muffled groan. Dean winces, increasing pressure on his shoulder, running fingers through Sam's hair.

At his touch, Sam sighs, settling against the pillow. Again, Dean's surprised at how Sam's behaving. He's not complaining though. It's kinda nice having  _this_ Sam again...the Sam that needs his brother.

Cas sounds worried. "I'm not very well liked in Heaven at the moment. I'm warded to avoid detection, but if I use any of my...abilities...they'll find me."

"I'm guessing if they find you, it won't be good." Sam looks up at Dean, bumping his leg, eyes asking  _What is it?_

Dean shakes his head.  _Don't worry about it…_

Sam closes his eyes with a huff, flicking Dean's thigh in irritation. Dean flicks Sam's ear in response, giving him a look.  _You're sick, so just be sick and let me handle this._

Again Sam huffs, and Dean knows he won't leave him be.

"No, it won't. So, I was wondering…" Castiel's voice trails off, but Dean hears the unspoken question.

Sighing, Dean asks, "Where are you, Cas?"

**xxxxx**

Luckily, Cas isn't far from them. He's able to get a car (Dean didn't ask, Cas didn't tell) and he said he'd stop at a drugstore on the way over. Based on Castiel's location, Dean's guessing it'll take the angel at least three hours to get to them.

Now that company's coming, and Sam can't pass out with Nyquil... _Sayorana, evening alone_.

Sam tried to take some Tylenol, but it made a reappearance moments later...and now Sam's on Dean's bed while Dean bags the sheets and blanket, dumping it outside.

Sam's face reflects the misery felt within, from physically feeling sick and unequivocal embarrassment over just having forced a single bed situation.

"Dean…" he gasps, still huddled in a ball, hands protectively over his stomach. "I... _God_...I'm so s-sorry…"

Dean flaps a hand at him as he shuts the door. "Shaddup, Sam. You can't help it." He sighs, glancing at the poor kid. He's a mess, sniffling and shaking, breathing through his mouth (still need that mouthwash…) and just looking so... _sad_.

Still, Sam clears his throat, attempting to be productive with something other than throwing up. "So, he's  _driving?_ "

Dean nods. "Apparently." He disappears into the bathroom to get a freshly wet cloth.

Sam's forehead wrinkles up. "And he's gonna go... _shopping?_ " His voice is strained, but Dean can still hear the incredulity.

Dean chuckles, carefully sitting next to Sam, dotting his forehead with the towel. "Yup."

Sam breathes a laugh (Dean decides to text Cas to get mouthwash,  _pronto_ ). "That'll be a story when he -  _Nghhh_... _oh_ ,  _Jesus…_ "

Sam doubles over, chin on chest, panting like he's going into labor. For a second, the thought that Sam's been cursed to be pregnant actually passes through Dean's mind, before he shakes it off, focusing on the miserable little brother before him.

"Easy, Sammy…" Sam's got a death-grip on Dean's shirt again, twisting it tight, almost to the point of ripping it. Dean's crooning whatever pops into his head, belying his worry and panic. One hand's ready to grab the trash can, the other rubbing Sam's back, desperate to make Sam feel better.

"This...sucks...I... _ohshit…_ " His breath hitches, and he sneezes, gasping in pain, and sneezing again. Dean hears him swallowing, and grabs the can.

"Sam…"

Sam's making these guttural grunts from the back of his throat, trying like hell to keep it together. It's a tense minute, until Sam finally wipes a shaky hand across his mouth. "Okay…'m okay... _fuck…_ "

Dean shakes his head, setting the can back on the floor. "Quit sneezin', Sam."

Sam snorts, exhausted. "Yeah, I'll get right on that."

Dean checks his watch and sighs. "Cas won't be here for a while…" His eyes flicker to Sam's hand, still all wrapped up in his shirt. They slide to Sam's bed, bare to the mattress, a wet spot blatantly sticking its tongue out at him.

He sighs again.

Sam looks up at him, scrubbing at his nose. "What?"

Dean looks at him... _really_  looks at him. Drooping eyelids, sore nose, pain lines around his mouth. Sam swallows hesitantly, sniffles, then scrunches up his face. " _What?_ "

Porn's overrated, anyway.

Ruffling Sam's hair, Dean shakes his head. "Nothin'. Let's see what's on TV." He gently removes Sam's hand, snags the remote off the dresser and crawls into bed, his hip brushing against his brother's back. He turns on some action movie, setting the remote on the nightstand, and placing one hand on his brother's back.

Solid, reassuring,  _there_.

Sam hesitates all of a second, before scooting close, closing his eyes, and falling asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I'm never really sure how long to play stories like this out...there's no real plot to signify that the story's over, so they just sort of...end. When I write them, I don't feel like the reader wants a day by day list of what they're doing...it's too mundane to be a story...but perhaps that's what folks want? I dunno. Seems like that'd be less like a story and more like a transcript if that makes sense, so I try to make an actual story...so.
> 
> Yeah.


	7. Ear Infection Dean

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt asked for Dean with a double ear infection. Full prompt at the end.

Sam scans the murky water for any sign of his brother. Sure, he was looking for the woman, too, but Dean…

Off to the left, some bubbles pop on the surface, then Dean's head emerges, followed by that of a young woman, both desperately gasping for air. Sam scrambles as close to the edge of the lake as possible, reaching out to help them ashore.

Soon enough, they're all panting on the dock, Dean and the woman lying in a massive puddle of dark, filthy water.

Dean lolls his head towards Sam. "Got 'er…"

* * *

A couple days later, Dean's right ear starts bothering him. Sam knows this, because Dean's been fussing with it all morning in the car. But Sam also knows how Dean is, so he decides to play this carefully and say nothing, instead keeping an eye on his brother.

But he was  _fussing_  - pulling on it, massaging it, shaking his head like he couldn't clear it.

Unable to help himself, Sam asked, "You okay?"

Immediately, Dean's eyes flicker to Sam, and his hand returns to the wheel. "Yeah. Just...some of that swamp water's still in there, I think. I can feel it. Fuckin' annoying."

_Oh_ , okay. That's not a big deal. Relieved, Sam felt he could engage. "That sucks. Maybe try tilting your head? See if it'll drip out?"

Dean shook his head. "Tried that. Didn't work." He sniffed and shrugged his shoulders, already done with the conversation. "It's fine, Sam. Just water logged."

And it was dropped.

* * *

That night, they stopped for dinner at a chain steak restaurant. Sam figured Dean would be excited, but Dean's actions spoke otherwise. He grimaces when swallowing, and keeps looking around like he isn't sure what's going on. Still, Sam chalks it up to being on the road too long, and focuses on the menu.

When the waitress brings their food, Dean's eyebrows shoot up at Sam's plate.

"What?" Sam huffs, knowing what's coming.

Dean gestures at the plate. "You...eating red meat. You cursed to eat like a normal human being or something?" He spins his plate a little, frowning at his steak.

Sam rolls his eyes as he picks up his knife and fork. "Dude, I ordered this right after you did. Didn't you hear me?"

Dean hesitates, twirling his fork around his fingers. "Must've been too stunned to remember."

Sam blinks.  _Huh?_

Dean waves his fork at him. "Nevermind. Just eat."

* * *

They have four hours until home, and without warning, Dean pulls into a gas station, the deceleration rousing Sam from a dazed stare out the window.

Sam sits up, rubbing his eyes. "What's up?" He looks over. Dean's face is pinched, one hand clasped over his left ear. "Uh...you okay?"

"Head's  _pounding_. That water's fucking me up."

Sam's eyes narrow as he takes a closer look. "Okay...I'll drive, you rest...tilt your head and see if it'll drip out."

"Yeah...okay."

* * *

They're two hours outside of Lebanon when Dean starts sweating. Twenty minutes later, he's shivering.

Sam drives faster.

One hour to go, the whimpering starts. Not constantly, but in pitiful bursts when the car hits a bump, jostling Dean in any way.

When Sam sees a blue sign with a blazing white "H" in the middle, he takes the exit and pulls up to the emergency room.

* * *

Sam steals a glance at Dean, who's curled up in a large armchair in the Bunker's library. A box of tissues lie in his lap, his head in his hands.

The Emergency Room doctors diagnosed Dean with a  _serious_  infection inside both ears, caused by some nasty bacteria from the lake water. They said he'd get worse before better, because within the time it'll take the antibiotics to work, the infection will worsen.

_Awesome_.

The table's  _piled_  with medicines and supplies. Sam starts putting boxes and bottles in order, according to the hospital's instructions and their own knowledge of what'll make Dean feel better. He reads each label and decides where it belongs, methodically moving through them all. He picks up a box of prescription ear drops, then compares it to the  _other_  box of prescription ear drops, which is totally different from the one in the closet they bought from a drug store a couple months ago.

"Hey, Dean - did they give you any ear drops at the hospital?" He's re-reading both labels now, trying to sort this through.

He hears a little huff. "Don't be stupid - why would they do that?"

Sam raises an eyebrow, tearing his eyes off the pill bottle. That wasn't exactly the expected reply, mumbled or otherwise. "Uh...because they prescribed two different kinds?"

"In  _lime?_ "

"In... _what?_ "

Dean looks up, pain lines crinkling the...well, his whole face. "What the fuck're you askin' me about lollipops for?"

"What?"

"What?"

Sam holds up his hands. "Wait, wait, wait...I asked you if the doctors put ear drops in your ears." To help, he holds up the medicine, waggling it back and forth. "Ear drops."

Dean blinks. " _Oh_...uh...no."

Sam pulls at his chin. "Okay...we need to do that, along with give you all your other medicine, before you pass out."

Dean squints at him, then sinks back into the chair, sniffling.

As soon as the last item is sorted, Dean coughs a little, followed by a hiss as he sucks in a breath and gingerly massages his throat. Sam winces in sympathy. "Hey...I'll make you some tea, okay?"

"Make me  _what?_ "

" _Tea,_  Dean."

"Teeding?"

"No,  _tea_ , for your throat."

"What goat? You find a Chupacabra?"

Oh, Jesus Christ.

"Okay." Sam stands, gesturing at Dean to stay put. He speaks slowly and  _maybe_  a little loudly. "I'm going to make you some tea."

Dean makes a face.

"Shut up - it'll be good for you."

Dean rolls his eyes.

"Stay here - I'll be right back. Then you have to take your medicine."

Dean closes his eyes. "Yes,  _Mom_."

Sam's instinct tells him to cuff Dean on the head, but he stops himself at the last second. "Whatever." Rolling his own eyes, he walks to the kitchen to boil some water, hands buried in his hair, alternating between pulling and just plain gripping.

Sam's worried as fuck, but he figures as long as Dean can still act like an ass, it'll be okay.

Once he finds the tea, he starts filling the teapot with cold water. That's when he hears a chair slide into the table, and a soft, "Fucking chair…" He turns to find Dean, wrapped in a blanket, stumbling into the kitchen.

"Dean...what are you doing up? I told you to stay put." Sam hastily sets the kettle on the burner and heads towards his brother, who's swaying and reaching out to the table for support.

"Couldn't find you."

Sam sighs as he helps Dean into a chair. "Dude - I was gone all of three minutes, and I told you where I was going."

"Hmmm?" Dean buries his face in a tissue, blowing his nose and sniffling pathetically.

"I -  _nevermind_. Just...just sit here." He gets eye level with his brother, taking his chin and forcing eye contact. " _Just. Sit. Here._ "

Dean pulls away, wincing from the movement and annoyed at Sam's tone. "I  _am_  sittin' here. Geez."

Sam's mouth opens, then closes. With a shake of his head, he returns to the stove and turns on the burner. While he's taking the box of tea out of the cabinet, he notices that Dean's shivering, despite the blanket draped across his shoulders.

"You cold?" Sam rubs Dean's arms a little.

Dean nods, pulling the blanket tighter.

"Okay. Hold on."

Sam goes to the hall closet where Dean stores all their linens. He marvels at how they have seriously fucked up lives, but Dean somehow managed to give them a linen closet. Smiling, he grabs the thick blanket Dean bought when Sam had the flu a few months ago. The door closes, and Sam just about wet his pants.

Standing behind the once open door is Dean, frowning.

"Dean! What the hell are you doing? You almost gave me a heart attack!" Sam's got one hand on his chest, the other clutching the blanket as he struggles to get his heartbeat under control.

"Didn't know where you went - thought you were cookin'...or…" Dean sniffs, and looks behind him, blinking at the empty hallway. " _Wait_...I…"

Sam takes hold of Dean's arm, carefully guiding his brother back to the kitchen. "C'mon…" Dean's unsteady gait causes them to bump shoulders more than once.

Back in the kitchen, Sam maneuvers Dean into the chair, wrapping him up in the thick blanket. Dean sighs. "Thanks, Sammy." He rubs his nose on it and sighs again, resting his head on his arms as he leans against the table.

Sam smiles through a tiny huff. "No problem."  _You've done so much for me - this is nothing._  He rubs Dean's back a few seconds, before returning to the teapot, which has just started to whistle.

Sam rushes over to turn off the heat. "Shit, that's loud."

Dean doesn't react at all.

Sam makes two large mugs of tea, and sets them aside to steep with a plate on top to trap the heat. Gently, he places a hand on Dean's shoulder and bends down. "Hey - time for medicine."

Dean sighs and makes a feeble jazz-hand gesture.  _Yayyyy…_

He wobbles with Sam back into the library, plopping into the armchair and wiping his nose.

Sam watches him while tearing open box after box, getting the pills and drops ready. He's  _pretty_  sure he's never seen Dean this sick. Sam's  _definitely_  sure he's never been allowed to take care of him like this.

Once upon a time, he was certain Dean didn't need Sam the way Sam needs Dean.

Feverish eyes gaze up at Sam. Dean whispers, "Sammy?"

Now Sam knows -  _he was wrong._

Sam nods. "Here's the first one…"

Dean takes it all like the trooper he is, despite the discomfort and pain. He white knuckles the blanket, but doesn't make a noise above a sharp intake of breath now and then. Once the whole routine is finished, Sam glances at the clock, noting that it all has to be done again in four hours.

He watches Dean wipe his nose, trying not to sneeze. Sam wraps his palm around the back of Dean's neck, squeezing gently, just as Dean loses the battle and sneezes anyway. He wants to cry too, when Dean bites back a sob, and Sam decides Dean's had enough.

"C'mon, Dean."

He tugs on Dean's sleeve until Dean stands up. Sam snags the mugs of tea, holds out his arm, then leads them Dean's bedroom.

It takes all of two minutes for Dean to crawl in bed, sighing. Sam makes him drink some tea before letting him nestle under the blankets. Once he's sure Dean's comfortable, he sets his alarm, and crawls in next to him.

It takes all of two seconds for Dean's head to settle on Sam's chest. Sam threads his fingers in Dean's hair, and shuts off the light.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Full Prompt: I am desperately in need of a bunker fic where Dean has a full-blown double ear infection. He is having trouble hearing, so maybe he constantly misunderstands Sam, but in a cute and funny way. He is also practically attached to Sam's hip and tends to follow him from room to room wrapped in a blanket, even though he's dizzy and exhausted. Sam finally gets him to go to sleep in his bed, but not without dosing him with medicine and cuddling him first!


	8. Jody and Sam

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, anyone at the Chicago Supernatural Convention - let's say hi! I'm the awkward chick with an orange pencil stuck in her hair carting around a Chromebook to write while waiting for Mark Sheppard's autograph time. (!!!!!)
> 
> Now the prompt! A story with some angst involving Jody and Sam. Not Jody/Sam. This was the scene that popped into my head.

Sheriff Jody Mills leaned against the counter while she watched her lunch slowly spin in the microwave.

"Gourmet and affordable eating" was making a comeback.

She snorted to herself.

When the timer showed fifteen seconds left, one of her deputies cleared his throat from the doorway.

"Uh...Sheriff?"

She groaned inwardly. It was a shitty day already, and it was barely noon. Still, she snarkily reminded herself,  _she's the sheriff._  Jody bit back a sigh and turned around, a smile already on her face. "Yes, Cody?"

Cody shuffled his weight from one foot to the other, nervously fiddling with a Post-It note. "I, uh, got a call Marcy Ward…"

Jody's face scrunched up. "Who?"

"You know - she, uh, moved in next to Bobby Singer a couple years ago?"

Like a popped balloon, Jody's appetite disappeared. Cody sensed her mood shift and spoke faster. "Well, uh, she said she thinks someone's at Bobby's house. She heard some noises, and saw a light in the house."

Jody swallowed before answering. "Well, that's impossible. All the utilities have been shut down since he…" She swallowed again. "They're just shut down."

Cody's head bobbed up and down. "I know...I know you've been, uh, in charge of his estate and all. But that's what she said. Sounded real sure of herself, too." He hesitantly held out the note which had a phone number scrawled on it. In a soft voice, he added with a shrug, "I thought you'd want to know."

Jody took the note, staring at the numbers, which annoyingly started to blur. "Yeah, thanks. I'll, uh, I'll check it out."

Cody nodded again and backed out of the lounge.

She slowly let out a breath, cursing the hunter for still getting to her, months after his death. Then again, she still cries over her husband and son, so... _yeah_.

Jody knew damn fucking well that it wasn't impossible for something to be going on there, so checking it out was an absolute necessity.

Sighing, she tucked the number in her pocket and threw a look at her lunch.

So much for gourmet.

**xxxxx**

It was late afternoon by the time Jody could get to Bobby's. She had things to do, people to check on, stalling to accomplish.

Which she did  _spectacularly_.

Jody let out a long breath as she pulled into the lot, sad eyes fixed on the house that was starting to show disrepair. She parked and just sat, staring.

After Bobby died, Sam and Dean needed to be off the grid, so all of Bobby's estate matters fell upon Jody to handle. She was still in the process of the legal shit, but it looked like she was going to get the house and the yard. She would hold it for the boys, and when things cleared up for them, she'd make sure it was there.

But she hadn't been here in a while, not since she packed up Bobby's things. It was just too... _difficult_.

Jody was  _tired_  of things being fucking  _difficult_.

She wearily rubbed at her eyes and opened her door. As soon as it fully extended, she heard a crash in the garage.

A second later, she had her gun out and primed. She cautiously walked towards the building, eyes scanning the property. As she got closer, Jody noticed the side door was open. A quick peek inside revealed a 1967 Chevy oh,  _Jesus Fucking Christ_.

Rolling her eyes, she shoved the gun back in its holster and walked inside. "Dean? Sam?"

The hood was open, and a flashlight propped against a toolbox shined directly onto the engine. Or whatever car parts they were. Something felt seriously wrong, and she contemplated drawing her gun again.

"Dean?" Jody circled the front of the car, resting her hand against the metal, noting it was cold. That meant it'd been here a while.

Wracking coughs startled the shit out of her, making her jump and knock over a box of crap. Without warning, she heard, "Don't move!"

She froze. Her heart skipped a few beats. "Sam?"

"Who are you?" The question's cut off with a cough, muffled yet harsh. She knew without turning around that the cough had been there a while, too.

"Sam...it's Jody. Jody Mills?" Taking a risk, she slowly held her hands in the air and turned around. She sucked in a breath. "Oh, my God,  _Sam…_ "

Hair all over and absolutely wild eyed, Sam Winchester leaned heavily against the driver's door, shaking hands trying to keep a gun trained on her. From the feeble light, she saw how pale his face was compared to the dark shirt he wore. He squinted at her, as if not quite believing she was who she said she was.

"Jody?"

She nodded, carefully lowering her arms.

"You...you're not  _dead?_ "

"No...no I'm not. Sam, what's going on? Where...where's Dean?"

Sam sagged against the car, coughing into his shoulder. When he got a breath, he mumbled, "Gone...he's gone…"

Jody's heart sank through the floor. "What do you mean?" She took a step closer.

Sam shrugged, and coughed some more. "I mean gone, like... _gone._  I dunno where he is. He just disappeared." His grip on the gun loosens as another string of coughing stole his breath. In one fluid movement, Jody disarmed Sam, quickly palming his forehead before he could say anything.

He was burning up.

Tucking his gun into her waistband, Jody moved around the door, shocked at how his clothes hung off his frame. "Come here."

Sam looked at her, confused and... _more_  confused, his forehead doing that wrinkle thing. "How…?"

Offering a small smile that Jody hoped will have a calming effect on the sick, distraught hunter. "I eat my veggies. Now,  _come here_." She held out her arms, and fuck her, it worked.

Sam's arms dropped to his side, like they were made of lead. A small sob escaped his lips as he stepped over and let her envelope him in her arms.

**xxxxx**

It didn't take too long to get Sam into the house. Maybe, like, half an hour. Or...more.

In any case, he was inside now, sitting on the couch, coughing endlessly into the crook of his arm. As she took off her jacket, Jody studied the young man, trying to figure out the best way to take care of him.

Because she  _was_  going to take care of him.

The question was...how?

The house had been empty for months. There was no food, supplies, nothing. All the furniture was draped in sheets, most everything was packed up and locked in a storage unit, and this man needed supplies and food.

Hands on hips, Jody muttered out loud. "Well. I  _am_  the sheriff, right? Someone's gotta owe me something." She pulled out her phone. "Sam...I'm gonna make a couple calls. Why don't you lay down for a little bit, okay?" To emphasize that she wasn't really asking him if it was okay, she gently shoved him until he leaned back. He tucked his legs underneath him and rested his head on the couch's arm.

She paused a moment, her worry increasing tenfold at the lack of communication accompanying the grief and desperation pouring off him. Sam was  _never_  this quiet. She had to get to the bottom of what was going on, and figure out Dean's whereabouts.

But first things first.

She scrolled through her contacts, choosing one and tapping her screen. As she waited for the pickup, Jody pulled a sheet off another chair and draped it over Sam's now shivering body. "Hey Sally, how are you? It's Sheriff Mills...Yeah, I'm good, thanks. How's Mike?"

As she listened, Jody snagged a pillowcase that sat on Bobby's desk, headed to the bathroom and wet half of it. "That's great. Listen, I need a favor…" Jody prattled off a list of supplies and food while blotting Sam's forehead with the cloth. His eyes fluttered closed and he actually sighed.

"Thanks, Sally...I'll pay you back when this passes over. … Yeah...yeah, everything's fine. ... Great. I'll see you soon." She tapped her phone and set it next to her on the couch. "Well, one thing taken care of."

Sam pulled the sheet tighter around his shoulders, trying to curl himself into a little ball buried in the corner of the couch. Jody raised an eyebrow. Did the kid not realize how big he was?

And just like that, the "young man" became a kid.

"Sam?"

Sam turned to look at her.

"Sam...I have some stuff being delivered, food and medicine for starters. While we're waiting, why don't you tell me what happened?" She's flexing her mom muscles which haven't flexed in a while, trying to be patient and calm while masking a need to push for answers.

Sam pushed a hand through his hair, sighing again. "Leviathan. Killed the leader...can't believe he did it...but he did...then…" He takes a really shaky breath. "Then Dean disappeared. Cas, too." Sam paused to cough.

Jody blinked and frowned and thought this over, patting Sam's back and rubbing it to help settle the horrible coughing. "Wait... _disappeared?_ Like…"

"Like...Dick Roman exploded, and took Dean and Cas with him. I don't know where they are."

Well, that came out in a rush, but Jody heard something else. "Sam...if Dick Roman...you really mean  _Dick Roman?_ " Sam nodded. "Oooooo-kay, you boys have been busy. Anyway, if he  _exploded_ , wouldn't that mean - "

Sam burst off the couch, hands back in his hair, pacing back and forth. "No.  _No_. He's  _not_  dead. He  _isn't_. He's  _gone_. Just gotta...just gotta figure out where - "

He didn't finish that thought, as another wave of body-wrenching coughs shook him, forcing a retreat to another chair.

Jody moved in, crouching in front of him, calming him down before a lung appeared on the floor. "Easy, Sam... _easy_." She didn't tell him it'd be okay, because obviously, that wasn't an option right then.

Finished, he wiped a hand over his mouth, eyes trained on the floor, breaths coming in gasps. "I've been...looking for a month. I thought maybe...maybe Bobby's books…" His voice broke. "Forgot you packed it all up."

"We can go to the storage shed when you're feeling a little better," she offered.

Wide eyes turned to her. "I don't have time to wait."

Her eyes narrowed. "You'll be worse if you don't. Will that help you find Dean?"

Wide eyes blinked slowly. He swallowed, lips pressed tightly together.

_Thought so._  "Now. Get back on the couch, and  _together_ let's figure out our next move."

**xxxxx**

An hour later, Jody had a pretty good idea of everything that'd been going on. At the end, Sam lie on the couch, head in her lap, passing for what could be considered asleep. Jody absently threaded her fingers through his hair, wishing Sally'd hurry the hell up and get there with the medicine for his fever.

From everything Jody understood, Dean was dead. Tears prickled at the corners of her eyes, and she cursed the universe for yet again, taking away a member of her family. She held Sam a little more firmly.

_Not taking this one too, Goddammit_.

Jody's hoping that when the fever gets under control, Sam would start to see things more clearly, that he now had to live a life without his brother. Wandering around the country, barraging hunters and doing endless research wasn't going to bring his brother back.

He had to move on.

Her head perked up at the sound of tires on gravel. Carefully leaning back and peeking out the window, Jody sees Sally's car in the driveway.  _Thank God._  After a masterful extrication, she went to the door and stepped outside. The sun was almost finished setting, smearing deep reds and oranges across the sky.

"Heya, Sheriff!" Sally exits the car, along with her husband, Mike. Jody can see a pile of bags in the back seat, and wanted to give Sally a huge hug.

"Hey, yourself. Lemme help…" She headed down the porch steps, taking some bags from Mike.

"This sure is a lot of stuff," Sally started, neck already craning toward the house.

Jody waved her off. "Yeah, I know. Bobby's nephew needed some things." Vague would work, right?

"Had no idea ol' Singer had any family at all," Mike commented, also peering past her.

"Yeah... _two_  nephews, actually. Anyway. Thanks so much for helping me out." Jody heads back up the steps. "Just leave the rest here on the porch. I'll bring them in."

She could see the disappointment on their faces. Too fucking bad.

"Sure thing, Sheriff." Sally and Mike set the rest of the bags on the weathered porch, then...stood there.

Jody fought the urge to roll her eyes. "Thanks, again. I'll get us squared away in the next few days." She put a hand on the door knob, clearly telling them goodbye.

They got the message, waving awkwardly and returning to their car. Heads turned and a last feeble attempt was made at catching a glimpse of the mysterious nephew, but Jody just stood in the doorway, a big fake smile plastered on her face. She watched them pull away, heads facing each other, already gossiping.

Whatever. Let them gossip. Not the first time Jody's been the subject of town gossip, and probably won't be the last.

She hauled everything inside, unpacking each bag onto Bobby's desk. She paused to run her hand along the gnarled wood, wishing it was covered in books and papers instead. Rough coughing pulled her out of the thought.

"Hey there - got some medicine for your fever." She waves a box at Sam, watching him stretch and run fingers through his hair.

"What fever? Who?" He smothered a cough in the sheet as he asked, the words sounding chopping and hoarse.

"Exactly." Jody ripped open the box and poured a couple pills into her hand. She sat down, holding them out with some water. "Down the hatch, Sam."

He blinked at them.

" _Sam_."

He jumped, nodding, and swallowed the pills without further comment.

She wanted to ruffle his hair, but settled on patting his shoulder. "Now it's time for some food to go with the pills." She knew the food should've gone first, but she figured the pills would be the easier sell, and she could deal with an upset stomach later if need be.

Sam shook his head, flopping back against the couch. He opened his mouth, only to be cut off. "Don't give me bullshit about not being hungry. Your stomach noises say otherwise." She got up and pulled a container of soup from the bags.

"Jody…"

Jody spun around. "Don't you  _Jody_  me. Do you have any idea how much you two mean to me? How...how worried I am when I don't hear from you? Especially since - " She stopped, their eyes locking, both swallowing. "You need this, Sam, especially now. Stop pushing me away."  _I need this, too._

She could see it - the fight on his face. It was devastating to know that he had no idea other people cared. Probably because...no one else was left.

He dug the heel of his hand against an eye, still coughing, still exhausted still...broken.

She needed him  _not_  broken.

"Yeah...yeah, okay."

**xxxxx**

They sat in the kitchen, focusing on their food, pointedly not looking around and trying like hell to keep memories from rising to the surface. But who were they kidding? The absence of both Bobby and Dean screamed from every corner, and both were sniffling and wiping their eyes by the end of the meal.

Jody pulled Sam back to the couch, arranging some of the other furniture so he could stretch out with her nearby. One of the bags had a blanket, which she laid on top of him. He huffed a little.

"What?" She asked, settling into a chair right next to the couch, well within arm's reach. He was much more 'with it', making conversation a lot easier.

"All this." He waved his hand around. "I dunno. It's weird."

Well, easier. Not necessarily better.

But she knew what he meant. "Yeah...it  _is_  weird."

They sat together for a while, saying nothing, just...being together. Sam was obviously lost in thought, and Jody was lost while watching him, not sure what to say, but knowing she didn't have to say anything.

When Sam started nodding off, she pulled the blanket up higher, resting a hand on his head. He sleepily opened one eye, as if making sure she was really there, before falling asleep once more.

**xxxxx**

The next morning dawned mostly bright, and Jody marveled at how she slept at all. Sam woke her twice - one yelling for Dean, arms flailing, eyes full of panic. The other was far worse - quiet sobbing, requiring her to give up the lumpy armchair and sit with him on the couch, crying with him.

Jody slid her hand from the back of the couch onto his forehead and neck, thankful that his skin felt much cooler, although he could use a shower. She smiled as he sighed in his sleep, and pulling the blanket up a bit higher.

By noon, they were up. Jody was ready with a dozen reasons why Sam needed to go back to her place...clean up, regroup, plan, get better, etc. She had it all primed and prepped.

After lunch, Sam cleared his throat. "So...Bobby's stuff is in a storage unit, right?"

She nodded, "Yup. I packed the books and papers myself, and anything else I could find that seemed…" She shrugged. "You know."

He nodded, coughing a little and taking a sip of water.

"You wanna go look at it?"

Sam shook his head. "No...not...not now. I'll, uh, I'll come back through and do it then."

Jody was in the midst of cleaning up and almost missed it. She'd been so sure of her plan and his agreement to it, that it took a couple seconds for his words to register. "Wait...what? Come back through?"

He ran his hands along his thighs, eyes on the table. "Yeah. I need to...to get going."

"But, Sam - "

"Don't you  _Sam_  me," He teased softly, now meeting her gaze with a small smile. "I have to keep looking, Jody. I know what you're thinking, and I know what you want to say. But...I have to."

Jody set the bag of garbage on the counter, leaning against it with a deep sigh. She knew this was coming. She hoped otherwise, but she knew. "Yeah...I know."

Sam stood. "I can't thank you enough, though, for…" He swept his arms around. "All this. Just knowing you're here, and that you...you took care of Bobby...it's…" He swallowed thickly. "It's everything."

Jody smiled up at him. "You can  _have_  everything, any time you need it, Sam."

He nodded again. "I know," he whispered.

Jody stood on the porch watching him drive away, the trunk full of all the supplies and extra food. She huffs to herself.  _That's why she got all the extra stuff._

**xxxxx**

A week later, Jody got a call from Sam.

"Jody…? I...I hit this dog…"

**-end-**


	9. Pneumonia Cas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that Season 9 and I are still in a fight, so I am using MY version of Season 9 to fit this story.
> 
> Prompt: Sick Cas in Season 9, coming down with a human ailment like pneumonia or food poisoning due to his inexperience with being human and the boys taking care of him and keeping him calm when the symptoms freak him out.
> 
> This was coupled with a request for human Cas with a really high fever.

 

Castiel didn't have an interest in human medicine.

To be fair, he hadn't been in a situation requiring it. He  _was_  an angel, after all, and angels with their powers didn't get sick. Sickness was a human frailty, beneath a celestial being.

Cas pondered this as he filled the Slushee machine at the Gas-n-Sip.

However, he  _was_  human  _now_ , which meant, he supposed, that he  _could_  get sick, despite the retention of some angel-ness. His grace was definitely gone, along with his wings, so wouldn't the barrier protecting him from things like germs also be gone?

He twisted, sneezing softly into his shoulder.

But, really, what were the odds of that happening? Everyone that came into the little store was friendly, appeared to be in good spirits, and not exhibiting any signs of illness similar to what Sam experienced during the Trials.

He sneezed again, scrubbing his nose against his sleeve while carefully watching the colorful liquid reach the maximum level inside the machine.

He was lucky to have a job where he didn't have to worry about that sort of thing.

* * *

_**One Week Later…** _

Cas kept swallowing, trying to relieve the scratchiness in the back of this throat. Nothing helped at all. He drank more liquid that week than in his entire lifetime (which was really saying something), but all it did was remind him why angels didn't drink in the first place, as he made numerous trips to the bathroom all day long.

Sam and Dean had been gone all week, and wouldn't be back for a while. Insisting that Cas wasn't quite ready to hunt, he was left behind in the bunker, continuing to work while studying how to be human.

He was pretty sure he'd learned a lot.

He just couldn't figure out what was going on with his throat.

* * *

_**Two Days Later…** _

Thankfully, Cas figured out how to stop the tickling in the back of his throat.

Coughing. Lots and lots of coughing.

It made total sense, too, because if his nose itched, he sneezed, and the itching went away. Why wouldn't it be the same premise for his throat?

He texted that revelation to Dean one night, only to receive a little image of two smiley faces slapping hands together. He wasn't sure what that meant, but he took it as a celebratory gesture.

* * *

_**Two More Days Later…** _

"Steve...um...I think you should go home…"

Nora, Castiel's boss, gave Cas this look, like she felt bad for him yet wanted him far, far away.

Cas started to protest, but cut himself off with a quick sneeze, followed by a long bout of coughing. The rough, wet sound ripped through the store, encouraging customers to flee without purchasing their items.

Nora held up her hands. "Yeah, you need to go home, and not come back until you're better, okay? Really, Steve, go get some rest."

"It's just…" He paused to cough again, this round leaving him breathless and maybe his chest hurt a little.

"It's just awful, Steve. Go. Home." She gently, but firmly, shoved Cas out of the store.

With a sigh, Cas climbed into his car. He didn't think he was that bad - he just had a lot of itching in his throat and nose. Perhaps he wasn't as good at being human as he thought.

It took three times to get the key into the ignition because the keyhole looked so fuzzy. He finally started his car, and headed back to the empty bunker.

* * *

_**A Few Days After That...** _

An exhausted Sam and Dean pulled into the garage, ready for bed.

When Sam went towards the trunk for their stuff, Dean flapped a hand at him. "Leave it 'til tomorrow."

Nodding a thanks, Sam shuffled inside, yawning.

They were a few steps from the kitchen when they heard it. Something was whistling. Not the happy musical kind, but rather a weird wheezing kind, that mixed with an awful raspy sound.

Dean held up a hand, and they both stopped. Sam knew that look on Dean's face, and whispered, "No, Dean, it's not Darth Vader."

Dean shot him a flat look that was also a bit petulant.  _One never knew…_

Drawing his gun, Dean crept forward, peering around the corner and into the kitchen. Sam waited, tense with anticipation of a fight.

It took a second for Dean's head to drop against his chest with a little laugh. He tucked the gun back in his waistband, whispering over his shoulder. "It's Cas."

Sam rolled his eyes and followed his brother into the room. Any and all amusement left as soon as they caught sight of the former angel.

He looked... _terrible_.

Hunched over, arms wrapped around his stomach, Cas shivered, in his work uniform. His face, framed by seriously disheveled hair, was a deathly pale, his normally alert eyes blinked sluggishly, unfocused and glassy. An empty roll of toilet paper lie on the table, along with several small crumpled toilet paper snowballs.

Sam made a mental note to bleach the whole kitchen.

Dean swallowed, eyes darting to Sam real quick before cautiously approaching Cas. "Hey, Cas...what's up?"

Pain-filled eyes slowly dragged their way upwards, eventually meeting Dean's. "Dean...something...is wrong…" The words scraped their way out of his mouth, followed by a definite wheezing sound.

Sam swore softly. He could feel the fever from a foot away.

Dean pulled up a chair, nodding at Sam to get the med kit. "What happened? Why didn't you tell me you were sick?"

Sam's eyebrow rose at the  _me_  part of that question, as he quickly left to get the much-needed supplies.

Cas coughed weakly against his arm, each sound grating against Dean's ears. "Thought it...wasn't a...big deal. Jus'...bein' human…"

Dean sighed, dragging a hand down his face. Reaching out, he checked Castiel's neck and throat, listening to his breathing and testing the heat on his forehead. "Dude, you're a fuckin' mess. Pneumonia is technically part of being human, but not a necessary one."

Cas frowned. "Oh…I thought - " He interrupted himself with another painful round of coughing.

Dean shook his head. "Stop talkin', Cas. We're home, we'll fix you up. C'mon."

Helping Cas up, Dean wrangled him to his room, meeting up with Sam on the way. "We have stuff for this?" he asked, pulling down the blankets and helping Cas climb in.

Sam huffed, setting the kit on a desk and checking inside. "Well, there's some Tylenol, and half a bottle of antibiotics that aren't  _too_ expired." He sighed. "More first aid than anything, Dean. We'll need to go to the store."

Cas curled up, coughing, ending the fit with a pathetic little sniffle as Dean tucked the blanket up to his neck.

Sam sighed, rubbing his eyes. "We may want to hit up a clinic and get more antibiotics."

Dean shot Sam a look. "When you say 'hit up'..."

Sam shrugged. "Either way. I dunno if it's a good idea to take him. Still, I mean, his vessel  _is_  human, right? So it's not like they'll find three hearts or something." He blinked. "Would they?"

Dean looked thoughtful, while Cas muffled a cough. "No. I only have one." He coughed again.

The brothers gave each other an  _Of Course_  look.

Sam continued. "But if something else triggers on their radar...I dunno. I guess I'd say let's treat it here, and if we can't get it under control…" He shrugged again, worried eyes on Cas.

"Right. I'll go to the store. Cas, stay put. Sammy'll keep an eye on you."

Sam's mouth opened to protest, but Dean waved him off, tugging on his shirt until they were both in the hallway. "Look, you're exhausted, and I'm not making you go to the store. I'll be back as fast as I can."

Sam sighed. "Dean, you're just as tired as I am. At least let me come with you."

Dean shook his head. "I  _am_  just as tired, but I'm not the one who got slammed into a wall three times.  _Stay here_. I'll be right back." He clapped Sam on the shoulder and took off, leaving Sam standing there, once again, feeling like a little kid.

A little kid who always got what he needed.

Sam scrubbed his hands over his face, returning to Cas, who hadn't moved. "Cas? I'm not sure when Dean'll be back, so...let's get this Tylenol in you, and some water. Then, I'm gonna get changed and cleaned up. Okay?"

Cas nodded weakly, mouth slightly open, that wheezy breathing the loudest sound in the room.

Nodding with lips pressed tightly together, Sam took a moment to examine him before doling out the pills and water. Something about Castiel's whole demeanor left Sam feeling  _so bad_  for him.

He sat on the bed, pulling at his chin. "You know, Cas, being human...it's not something you can pick up in a month. It's kind of a lifelong learning process. We experience new things all the time, and have to figure out how to integrate it into what we already know." He winced a little at how technical he sounded, but Cas seemed to follow what he said, nodding gravely in response. "So, I guess what I'm saying, is...if you're experiencing something you don't understand, just ask. We're...we're here for you. Letting something like this alone...well. It always ends up worse."

If Dean were there, he'd probably throw a tampon at Sam's head, but Sam knew Cas needed to hear those words, be given permission to ask questions.

Castiel's brow furrowed. "Thank you, Sam. I'll...think over what you said."

Nodding, Sam patted him on the leg. "Good...that's...good. I'm gonna go shower. Try to rest. I'll be right back."

**xxxxx**

When Sam left, Castiel sniffled and began a thorough pondering over the condition of his vessel. He'd been so preoccupied with considering this illness on a philosophical scale, he didn't really stop to think about what, exactly, he was experiencing.

What if...what if he died from it?

At that point, Cas obsessively took note of everything and anything affecting him.

A legitimate freakout began.

**xxxxx**

Sam opened the bathroom door, a towel wrapped around his waist, trying to figure out which, if any, clean clothes waited for him in his room. He wasn't expecting a droopy ex-angel hovering outside the door, which explained his yelp/jump and almost-losing the towel.

_Almost_.

" _JesusChrist_ , Cas, what the hell?" One hand desperately held the towel in place while the other made sure everything was still covered.

Cas coughed weakly. "I'm sorry, Sam, but I...I had a question."

Sam's first reaction was to snap about timing and maybe letting Sam have a minute to get dressed, but the angel's blue eyes were boring into his brain, and Sam  _did_  tell him to ask, so any irritation he initially felt melted away when Cas started hacking, clutching his chest.

Sam almost reached out with both hands to steady him.

_Almost_.

"Fuck...hold...hold on a minute…" Sam hurried to his room, quickly changing into sweats and a t-shirt, ignoring which clothes were clean and which were...gently used. Cas was still coughing when Sam returned.

Now able to steady him, Sam reached out, guiding Cas back to his room and into bed. After managing a few sips of water, Cas was finally able to take a decent breath.

Sam brushed wet hair off his face. "So...what - "

"I'm making noises," Cas announced, settling into bed, wiped out from the fit in the bathroom.

Sam frowned. "Ooooo-kay...and…?"

Cas sighed. "And when I cough, the noises change. I don't...I don't understand why."

Sam's mouth opened, then closed. He shifted his seat, raising a finger and opening again, only to close it and scratch his head. "Well, uh, you're sick, Cas. It's probably something with your lungs and airways, being affected by this infection. It'll clear up, man, I promise."

One look at Castiel's face, told Sam how inadequate the answer sounded. He quickly wiped dripping water off his cheek, noting the spread of  _wet_  down the back of his shirt. "Okay, these sounds...are they when you breathe?" He palmed Castiel's forehead and cheeks, felt around his neck. He knew Dean already did this, but Sam figured doing it again, in light of Castiel's question, would help alleviate the angel's worry.

Cas succumbed to the examination, feeling better just knowing that someone was investigating. "Yes...it's that sound...there...there again...and it's there...and - "

"I hear it, Cas." Sam suppressed any and all potential laughter. Scrubbing a hand along the back of his neck, Sam sighed. "It sounds a lot like when Dean had pneumonia a couple years ago. He had trouble breathing, because he was so congested. When he did, the air that got through made that kind of noise." Without thinking, Sam tucked Cas in, setting the Kleenex box a little closer. "It's normal, Cas. Well, normal for someone with pneumonia. It'll be there for a while."

Cas closed his eyes in relief. "Thank you, Sam."

Sam patted his chest. "Sure thing. I'm gonna boil some water for tea. I think it'll help. Stay here, and really, try to get some sleep."

Cas frowned. "If you're making me something, shouldn't I stay awake?"

Sam wondered if he was like this as a child. If so, Dean deserved a medal. "No - tea is easily heated up again. Sleep is more important, okay?"

Coughing, Cas nodded.

"Great."

**xxxxx**

Cas woke thinking,  _everything_  was hot. Sweat poured off him, his hair clung to his head, his clothes were uncomfortable and stifling.

The last time he felt this warm, he was on a rescue mission for a human.

Wait. He completed that mission, right?

Blinking sluggishly, Cas tried to focus on his surroundings. Where  _was_  he? It didn't look like Heaven, but it had the same sense of safety, of comfort.

Safety.

Comfort.

_Dean_.

_Find Dean._

**xxxxx**

Dean grinned in his sleep. It definitely wasn't a smile, it was a  _grin_. He was five seconds away from making a killer shot at the pool table, that gorgeous brunette was giving him a solid  _Come Hither_ , and -

"Dean…"

...and she was at his side, breathing in his ear, hot, steamy…

"De-"

...and coughing. She was coughing in his ear  _what the fuck_  - "Cas?" Dean sputtered awake, wiping his ear, barely catching his friend as he toppled on top of him. "Whoa!"

Castiel's body emitted so much heat, Dean actually recoiled. "Shit, Cas…"

"Dean?" Cas rasped. "I...did I save you?"

Dean struggled to sit, propping Cas on a pillow while trying desperately to fully wake up. "What're you talking about?  _Jesus_ , you're burning up."

Cas blinked, gripping Dean's shirt tight in his fist. "Hell. Did I save you? I can't...I can't remember…" His words were swallowed by a harsh wheeze. He rubbed his chest. "It's so hot...just like…" Cas swallowed hard, eyes locked on Dean's. "Are you okay?"

Dean's mouth opened and closed a couple times. He hadn't honestly thought about Hell in a long time. How messed up was that? Purgatory, the Trials, the Apocalypse, Bobby...all of that happened  _since Dean died_. It actually trumped being tortured in Hell.

Gotta love the life.

"Yeah...yeah, Cas, I'm fine. You saved me, buddy, you definitely did. No worries there. Look, you're the one who's not fine right now. We need to get this fever down, okay?"

"What fever?" Cas asked, leaning to the side as Dean slipped out of bed.

"Exactly. Come on…" As Dean hauled Cas to his feet and to the door, he called out, "Sammy!"

Before Dean had Cas fully out of his room, Sam came bolting down the hallway, gun drawn.

Dean raised an eyebrow over Cas's head, which was resting on Dean's shoulder.  _Really, Sam?_

Sam huffed, stammering, "I...you sounded like...nevermind." He switched off the safety, tucking the gun into his sweats and grabbing Cas's other arm. "What the hell happened?"

Together, they helped the angel to the larger bathroom, which held a huge soaking tub. Dean sighed. "He came in my room like this...and he's a little…"

"Sam? Sam...it's too warm. Should it be this warm?" Cas's voice broke a little, confusion and worry on his face.

Sam gaped at Dean before answering. "Um...no, Cas, you shouldn't be this warm. It's...it's  _too_  warm." He held Cas upright as Dean started filling the tub. "We need to cool you down, okay? This temperature isn't good for your vessel." Again, Sam hated how technical he sounded. "The water will feel really cold, but we gotta do this, Cas."

Sam deftly felt Cas's forehead, grimacing at the sweat. "Dean…"

Dean dragged a hand down his face. "Yeah. I know."

**xxxxx**

When Cas was finally back in bed (Sam even changed the sheets), he was shivering, his chest ached, his throat was raw, and he was so  _tired_.

But his brothers, his  _real_  brothers, were there, checking his temperature, giving him medicine, assuring him that he'd be okay, it'd just take some time.

Cas believed them.

He sleepily watched Dean putter around his room, reading labels on bottles, rearranging the covers, adjusting the humidifier.

"Dean…" Cas whispered weakly.

Dean immediately halted the sporadic activity, equivalent to a nervous facial twitch, and sat on the bed. "Yeah? You need something?"

Cas wheezed a laugh. "It's kind of funny. There were many nights when I sat, watching over you as you slept." Dean raised an eyebrow. "You were my charge, and I was determined to see you through each night, one way or another. And now…" He feebly gestured at the bed with one hand, wiping his nose with the other.

Dean gave him a small smile. "And now? I'm returning the favor. Get some sleep. I'm not going anywhere."

Cas smiled his thanks, and did just that.


	10. Then and Now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year!

_**Happy New Year!!** _

* * *

 

_**Then…** _

Dean cleared his throat, already irritated with the uncooperative witness. The heaviness of each eyelid was becoming increasingly difficult to ignore, as a slight pressure throbbed dully behind them.

A quick glance at Sam earned him a _Dude, what?_ look in return. Dean shrugged his eyebrows and went back to examining the plain décor, counting the seconds until they could leave. Sam continued to earnestly grill the moron who now claimed to _not_ have seen the spirit shove an old dude down some stairs, even though his statement to the police said otherwise.

When the cliché "Thank you for your time" words were spoken, Dean immediately headed for the door, craving any fresh air to help clear the cobwebs tangling up his thinking. Stepping outside was like being splashed with cold water, and Dean drank it in, despite the sniffle that developed as a result.

As they walked down the steps toward the Impala, Sam started in, eyes narrowed and suspicious. "What was with all the looks in there?"

Dean shook his head, not wanting an argument, and definitely not liking the sluggish feeling accompanying the movement. "Nothing. He's lying, that's all."

Snorting, Sam rapped his fingers on the hood as Dean unlocked the doors. "No shit, he was lying. I shoulda pushed a little harder."

_Dean_ snorted. "Last time you pushed, the guy ended up needing a brace for his shoulder. Let's just dig up the files, figure out which person can't cross over, then deal with the remains. The witness doesn't matter at this point." He yanked open the door, sinking into the seat, almost crying at how good it felt.

Sam frowned over his shoulder at the house. "Yeah...I guess."

The drive back to the motel was quiet, which was both a good and bad thing. It was good, because Dean's headache loved to rap on his skull to the beat of whatever sounds it heard. But it was also bad, because silence meant less for Dean to focus on, which meant exhaustion threatened to take over at every straight stretch of road.

When they finally reached the motel, Dean heaved a sigh as he put Baby in park, closing his eyes against the sharp light.

"What's with you? You're all... _off_." Sam scrutinized him with the practiced eye of someone proficient at finding fault.

Dean half shrugged, dragging his eyes open while pulling the keys from the ignition. "Got a bad headache. I think I'm - "

"Take some Tylenol or something, then. We have work to do." And with that, he slammed the Impala's door and headed inside, leaving Dean blinking in the driver's seat.

**xxxxx**

The next day brought too much research while trapped inside the motel, as the sky opened and dumped a celestial sized bucket of water onto the town. Sam flipped through newspapers and websites, sighing and huffing, pacing and muttering. Dean fought off his impending cold, and did a damn good job of it, too, considering the bed was _right fucking there_.

He couldn't process any of the information in front of him. Words danced on the pages, like the fever tingling in his limbs.

Angry at their lack of progress by late afternoon, Sam growled, "There _has_ to be something we're missing. We have all the information."

Dean absently nodded, massaging the bridge of his nose, attempting to force the subtle yet persistent tickling into submission. He felt heavy, like a weight pressed on his entire body, trying to convince him to just lie down.

Sam haphazardly tossed a stack of newspaper clippings into a pile on the small table, ticking off items on his fingers. "I mean, we have all the obituaries, personal accounts from family and friends, eyewitness stories, county clerk records…"

Dean's nostrils twitched, his lungs slowly filling with air.

"I don't get what we don't get. It's not adding up."

Eyelids fluttered closed, his mouth opened…

"Dude! Are you even listening to me?"

" _Hihhhhhh-Hetschhhuhh!"_ Dean kept his head bowed a couple seconds, before sniffling and raising bleary eyes to Sam. Fight over. _He was done._ "Yeah. We're missing something. I heard you. Look - "

Sam rolled his eyes, shaking his head in disbelief. "This is pissing me off. We should've been done by now, and moving on to another hunt." He abruptly stood, slamming his chair into the table, knocking some papers onto the floor.

Sighing, Dean bent to retrieve them, grimacing as a dizzy spell socked him between the eyes. He tossed the papers on the table, muffled another sneeze into the crook of his arm that vibrated throughout his entire head, and gently pushed back his chair.

"Sam, I feel like crap. I really need to lie down before -"

"Where'd you find this?" Sam pointed at a piece of paper lying on top of the pile Dean just made.

Dean dug the heel of one hand against an eye. "Off the floor just now. Listen, _please_ , I gotta - "

Sam smacked him on the arm. "This is it! This is what we were missing. _Jesus Christ_ , it must've been buried in the pile or maybe I just kept glossing over it, but...now we know which remains are his!"

_Oh, shit._ "Sam..."

But Sam was already grabbing his jacket, throwing Dean's at his brother. "Come on. We can dig him up right now."

Dean wrapped his arms around himself, shaking his head. " _Sam_...I can't - "

"Don't be a pussy. Just take a pill or something and let's go. Now that I know we can actually solve this, I wanna hit that bar when we're done, and take that waitress's order, if you know what I mean." He waggled his eyebrows.

_Good grief._

"Hey - you can call that Lisa chick. You haven't seen her in, what, a few weeks?" Dean fought the urge to punch the leer off his face. Lisa was _not_ a topic to be discussed. Not with _him_ , not when he's like _this_.

Impatiently snapping his fingers, Sam huffed. "Come _on_ , man." He studied Dean a moment, moving in for the kill. "You want someone else to die because you have a stupid headache?"

**xxxxx**

Dean sneezed, exhausted and cold, against his shoulder. He futilely wiped at the rain streaming down his face, thankful that his numb fingers couldn't feel the difference between the water and his running nose. Another sneeze ripped out of him unexpectedly, causing him to almost lose his footing and fall ass first into the grave.

Technically, he _did_ lose his footing. Sam's hand shot out, catching Dean's arm just in time. " _Jesus Christ_ , that's the second time you've almost fallen in. What's going on?" He shoved Dean's arm aside, impatiently moving around the wet hair plastered against his face. "And _this,_ " he gestured at his head, "is annoying. I need to get a buzz cut or something." The fact that Dean let that go without comment was a testimonial to how shitty he felt.

Sam tossed a disdainful look at Dean, lit by the intermittent flashes of lightning, making him appear more cold and distant than normal. Given the way he'd been acting, that was really saying something. "If you're just gonna keep getting in the way, why don't you just...stand watch or something." Sam waved his hand around vaguely before shaking his head and dropping into the grave.

Dean would've retorted, but a nice string of coughing bent him double, followed by another sneeze. Pressing his lips together, Dean pried stiff fingers off the shovel, dropping it to the ground and immediately folding his arms across his chest. He shivered, watching, both their surroundings and Sam's movements, until the bones were dust.

**xxxxx**

Sam was still crowing about solving the case and his upcoming reward when they returned to the motel. The door clicked shut in tandem with Sam's phone, which he now waved triumphantly in Dean's pale face. "Her shift ends in ten. I'm gonna shower then head out." He grabbed his duffel, asking over his shoulder, "Wanna come along? I'm sure we could _arrange_ something." He barked a laugh when all he got in return was a sniffle. "Whatever. It won't take long, then we'll leave early in the morning."

The bathroom door slammed. The shower, and all the hot water most likely, burst to life, and Dean just stood dripping in the doorway.

**xxxxx**

_**Now...** _

Dean cleared his throat, unequivocally annoyed with the reluctant witness. Pressure was building in his head, signalling a monstrous head cold headed his way, and that was the absolute last thing he needed right now.

A quick glance at Sam earned him a _What's going on with you?_ look. Dean shrugged his eyebrows and went back to studying the overcrowded walls, filled with country themed knick-knacks and Home Sweet Home crap. Sam was working his magic on the witness, cajoling her into admitting what she saw despite her fear that they'd think she was crazy.

Dean didn't have to pay super close attention. Sam would have it all memorized and catalogued with all the other information they gathered, so instead he idly wandered the room, swallowing hard against the cough that threatened to escape. Midway through the second wall, the prickle in his throat snuck into his nose, growing into a mild burn that Dean scrubbed at while reading that damn Footprints poem, clinging to the wall by a silver cross.

When his eyes began to tear, he knew the fight was over. He raised his wrist, " _Hiiiiiihhhhh-H'eh'NGXHT!_ " One sniffle, quick massage under his nose, and…

" _H'gnxt!_ " One more.

Sam thanked the lady for her time, and they left the house. Cold air rushed past, just as he inhaled, causing him to lose control and, " _TSCHHHuh!_ " before he could stop it.

"Jesus, Dean!" Sam yelped.

" _Sorry_...I'm fine. Let's get going."

They walked in silence, until Sam, in this quiet voice, said, "Okay...let's head back to the motel and try to piece all this information together."

Dean frowned at him. "I thought that's what you were already doing in that giant head of yours. We should check out the building, then wait until dark before heading to the cemetery." They reached the Impala, and Dean simply opened the doors and climbed inside. He knew Sam suspected he was getting sick, so he mapped a route to a drug store for non-drowsy cold medicine and cough drops.

Still outside, Sam fiddled with the door handle, probably deciding whether to ride with his germs.

" _C'mon_ , Sam. We're close - I wanna finish this before someone else gets hurt."

Sighing, Sam opened the door and climbed in.

**xxxxx**

Dean pulled into a parking spot, shutting off the engine and announcing, "Gonna grab some beer. Be right back." He was surprised that all came out without coughing.

"I need a couple things, too," Sam said, making Dean close his eyes briefly in annoyance. He just wanted to grab some medicine and swallow a couple pills before they broke into the building. He was about to tell Sam to just give him a list when the prickly sensation was back, tingling his nostrils, threatening to make him sneeze in front of Sam.

He shrugged, and practically leapt from the car, bolting for the store before..." _HNGXGT!_ "

_That_. Before _that_.

Dean sniffled his way to the coolers in back, grabbing a six-pack. When the cold air kissed his warm neck, he stifled two more into his arm.

In the medicine aisle, his headache throbbed more painfully from all the stifling. As he scanned the boxes, he reflected, definitely a sign of a budding fever. Logically, he knew that Sam, _his_ Sam, was back, and there wasn't a reason to hide that he didn't feel well. But the sting from the ultimate pneumonia from several months ago still hurt, and Dean just had a hard time letting go.

Dean bit his upper lip, breathing through his mouth. Closing his eyes, he resigned himself to another sneeze, choosing _not giving a shit_ over _constant fighting and hiding_.

Only, of course, it wouldn't come, leaving Dean blinking and sniffling through teary eyes, trying to read the boxes while scrunching his nose.

Naturally, that's when Sam entered the aisle.

Startled, Dean momentarily forgot all about the sneezing. He was just starting to move past the ridiculous notion that maybe a piece of his soulless brother remained, until Sam rolled his eyes.

Clenching his jaw, Dean snagged a box of pills off the shelf, and made to push past Sam, when his body _remembered_. The whole walk down the aisle, Sam's eyes on him, his breath caught, and the wild inhaling began. Each breath brought his hand a little closer to his face, his head rearing back a tad more, his steps slowing.

_Fuck_.

Then it slammed, releasing a massive sneeze into cupped hands, hastily wiped on his jeans.

He sniffled just as he reached Sam's side, his brother's doe eyes wide with surprise.

Mustering up his dignity, he brandished the beer. "All set."

Wanting to get a dose of the medication down his throat before Sam got back to the car, Dean scrubbed at his nose, flashing a brilliant smile at the cashier in hopes that she'd move a little faster.

He scrambled for the keys, shoving himself in the driver's seat while hunting in the bag for the pills, managing to pop and dry-swallow three, just as Sam showed up.

Dean was just about to start the engine, when Sam, who probably refused to make eye contact because now he knew for sure that Dean was sick, said, "Hey, Dean? I left my good tools in the room. I need to go back for them."

Dean thought this over. He could put on an extra layer, grab some toilet paper for his nose which was starting to run, and get a little time for the medicine to take effect.

"Sure."

_**XXXXX** _

_ **Really** _ _**, Now…** _

Sam patiently nodded, his sympathy-filled eyes on the witness, but his _everything else_ was trained on his brother. Dean abandoned the interview a good five minutes ago, suddenly obsessed with the needlepoint projects and family portraits decorating every square inch of the living room. Dean wandered behind the teary woman, appearing to avidly read one of those Footprints in the Sand poems, neatly cross-stitched in purple.

Something was up with him, but Sam couldn't quite pinpoint what it was. They were still "finding their way" since Sam's soul was restored, and while all signs pointed to the reunion being a positive one, a couple days ago, Dean started pulling back. One word answers, pushing himself to actually research ( _huuuuuge_ red flag), and an almost defensiveness in place that left Sam both curious and concerned.

He was just about to convince the woman to admit she saw her dead son's ghost, when the sound of someone clearing their throat made him glance up, thinking he was being signalled. But Dean wasn't even looking at him. Instead, Dean brought his wrist up, hunched his shoulders, and stifled a sneeze that left him blinking. He quickly peeked at Sam, who tilted his head.

_You okay?_

Dean shrugged his eyebrows and went back to studying the overcrowded walls, but not before Sam noticed the blush creeping up his neck, onto his cheeks.

After a couple more minutes, Sam finally got the admission, and thanked the woman for her time. Out of the corner of his eye, Dean stifled another sneeze into his bandana, hastily shoving it in his pocket before waving a goodbye.

A chilly breeze lazily rolled in just as they started down the stairs.

" _TSCHHHuh!_ " It caught Dean off-guard, and he gripped the railing tight to keep his balance.

"Whoa! Jesus, Dean..." That was too many sneezes in a short amount of time for a supposedly healthy Dean Winchester. Sam reached out to help, simultaneously fumbling in his pocket for a tissue or something, worry gnawing at him.

Dean stiffened, pulling away, cueing Sam to cease the whole "trying to help" plan. What did he do wrong? He ran over everything, but came up empty.

Then Dean did something that really put Sam on edge.

He apologized.

_Apologized?_ To _Sam?_ For _what?_ Sneezing?!

Going for nonchalant, Sam fiddled with the sleeve of his jacket. "Okay...let's head back to the motel and try to piece all this information together." He figured once they were in the room, he could convince Dean to get some rest, sleep it off, whatever he needed.

"I thought that's what you were already doing in that giant head of yours. We should check out the building, then wait until dark before heading to the cemetery." Dean got into the car, leaving Sam biting his lip on the curb. " _C'mon_ , Sam. We're close - I wanna finish this before someone else gets hurt."

_What the_...Dean hadn't used that line in _years_. Sighing, Sam opened the door, and climbed in.

**xxxxx**

Surprisingly, Dean drove straight to a drug store. "Gonna grab some beer. Be right back."

Gears turning, Sam decided to pick up cold medicine and cough drops, and at least have them on hand in case Dean decided to use them. "I need a couple things, too." He didn't miss the flash of irritation on his brother's face before he shrugged, exiting the car. _Whatever_. He wasn't going to stop caring about his brother just because said brother wanted to be a little dickish.

Dean was already at the store by the time Sam closed the Impala door. He thought about jogging to catch up, but when Dean's shoulders tensed, head snapping forward to meet his hands, Sam figured walking was fine, so Dean had some space.

He grabbed a basket, slinging it onto his arm and headed straight for the aisle with tissues. He passed an endcap with, _wow_ , hot water bottles. Sam hadn't seen one in years. Cinching his mouth to the side, he shrugged and tossed one into the basket, fairly sure it'd come in handy later.

His eyebrows rose when he turned into the medicine aisle. There stood Dean, one hand under his nose, the other grasping a six-pack of beer. It took Sam a second to realize that Dean was desperately trying not to sneeze. He tried to walk away undetected, but Dean's head turned just in time to make eye contact, his eyes widening in surprise, like he got caught doing something wrong, not just sneezing.

Unless...unless he thought "the wrong" _was_ the sneezing. Sam rolled his eyes. Just like the water bottle, it'd been years since Sam saw Dean act out all that stoic, macho crap. He thought they were past it, able to openly acknowledge when they weren't up to hunting, and maybe just...needing the other.

He took a step closer, when Dean blindly grabbed some box off the shelf, stomping toward him, his mouth slightly open, his nostrils twitching (when did they turn so red?), his forehead wrinkled, until he was a few feet away. Then he lost control, letting out a thunderous sneeze that rang throughout the store.

Sam's eyes widened. Dean was well on his way to a massive head cold, and Sam silently thanked the store employees for setting up the hot water bottle display.

Dean raised the beer, a smirk already plastered on his face. "All set." He brushed past, heading straight for a cashier.

Luckily for both of them, Sam had a trained eye. He caught the type of medicine clutched in Dean's hand.

Nighttime stuff.

Nighttime stuff that would knock him out in roughly half an hour.

Pulling at his chin, Sam checked over his shoulder, pleased to find Dean occupied, attempting to flirt with the cashier. He hurried down the aisle, finger brushing several boxes, until he found the one he wanted. Non-drowsy capsules, for after Dean gets some solid sleep and insisted on returning to the case. He also found cherry cough drops containing menthol.

He tucked it all in his basket, relaxing when he saw that Dean had already left the store. On his way out, Gatorade and a couple cans of soup were added to the pile. Satisfied, Sam paid, asking for paper bags to hide it all.

_Awesome_. Stooping to his level.

Sighing, Sam held the bag against his chest, entering the Impala with what he hoped was an innocent smile, not missing the shiny glint of a blister pack disappearing into Dean's pocket.

_Shit_.

He knew Dean would fight him, but he _absolutely_ had to get Dean back to the motel, before the medicine knocked him out. Going to the building was _so_ not an option anymore.

_Okay_. Take the hit, Winchester. It's for a good cause.

"Hey, Dean? I left my good tools in the room. I need to go back for them." Gaze averted, Sam vowed not to take the disapproving look he knew was headed his way personally.

There was a pause, then, "Sure."

Sam's shoulders sagged a little with relief, and they headed back to their motel.

_**xxxxx** _

It took about fifteen minutes until they were back in the room, Sam gnawing on a fingernail the entire time. Knowing his brother, Dean probably shoved more pills than necessary into his mouth, figuring that more medicine meant he'd be more capable of hunting. A furtive glance to the left confirmed that thought. It _also_ confirmed that this cold was rapidly debilitating Dean, and drowsy cold meds or not, he needed to be in bed, not snooping around a cemetery in the cold.

"Almost there. Hurry up so we... _*sniffle*_...so we can go." Dean smothered a cough against his shoulder, continuing to drive.

He parked, too preoccupied to notice that the car was crookedly split between two spots.

"Coming in?" Sam asked innocently, while Dean wrestled with another stuck sneeze.

" _Yeahhh-hih_... _Etschhhew!_ But bake it fast."

A firm grip on his bag, Sam led the way inside, taking off his coat once the door clicked shut.

Dean held out a hand in protest. "What're you doing? Don't get combfortable. We deed to fiddish." Congestion was now added to the growing list of symptoms. He started toward the bathroom, but stopped when Sam opened his bag, pulling out... _a hot water bottle?_ and other supplies.

Not looking up, Sam replied softly, "You need to get in bed."

Dean's eyes narrowed, following a hasty throat clearing. "I'm finde - it's just a stupid headache. I cad hundt." Why did he feel like he'd been duped?

Sam splayed his hands. "It's more than a stupid headache, Dean. And yes, I know you can hunt sick, but not after you've eaten a bunch of cold medicine that'll have you loopy in twenty minutes."

As Sam filled the coffee pot with water, Dean checked the blister pack, swearing under his breath when he read the label. As an extra release of frustration, he knocked a chair into the table.

"What's the big deal, man? So you're sick." Sam held up the medicine from his bag. "I got you this stuff, because I knew you were gonna push working. But right now, I'm glad you took those other pills. Some sleep would be best. I'll go through everything and we can set out in the morning, and you can take _these_ instead." Sam nodded at the package of daytime cold medicine on the table, then filled the hot water bottle. He met Dean's gaze, trying to suss out the true source for all the angst. He was too upset for this to just be about flexing testosterone.

They stood there, staring at each other, until Sam switched tactics. "Why won't you let me help you?"

There was a fight inside Dean's head - and he was sure Sam saw it, plain as day. Jaw muscles twitched, eyes flickered here and there, fingers curled and uncurled. Dean's tongue darted over his lips, and he took a deep breath. Maybe it was the meds kicking in. Maybe he needed to believe his brother was really back. "I...uhm...I don't...I don't feel that great," he whispered hesitantly.

Sam huffed a laugh. "I know, man. That's why you need to take it easy." He screwed the water bottle shut, gesturing at the bed. "Come on. Get in."

That was what Sam said out loud. His eyes, that damn puppy-eye look, spoke more. _You're more important than any hunt out there. I'm here for you. It's okay. It's really me._

Nodding slowly, Dean peeled off his jacket, and crawled into bed.

Through half-closed eyes, Dean watched Sam putter around the room, adjusting the thermostat, checking Dean's temperature, fussing with the blankets, and generally being as un-OtherSam as possible.

_Maybe_ borderline girly.

Dean didn't mind.

It confirmed what he dared to hope for - that _his_ Sam was truly there, watching his back, showing that he cared, moving the fricking Kleenex box for the fricking fourteenth time.

"Sab! _Jesus_ , quit hovering. How ab I supposed to sleep with you practically breathing od be?"


	11. Adam's First Hunt

The silence in the motel room was a _tad_ on the awkward side, the blow-up from fifteen minutes ago still simmering within each Winchester's head. Thunder echoed overhead, accompanying the huffing and posturing in the room like irritated grumbling in the background.

Dean angrily shoved various articles of dirty clothing into a massive laundry bag, not even bothering to smell some of them, which was a testament to just how pissed off he was.

Adam glowered from the couch, pretending to flip through a book on Celtic lore, apparently unconcerned about possibly ripping the pages.

Sam…

Sam sat helplessly at the table, pretending to research on his laptop while monitoring the powderkegs smoldering in the room. Not for the first time, Sam truly identified with Dean's predicament when it was just them and Dad. He marveled at how Dean managed to keep sane when the fighting between him and their father ensued.

No matter what Sam said or did, the accusations of favoritism flew, hitting him between the eyes before he had a chance to deflect. As a matter of loyalty, Dean expected Sam to be on his side. As a newly minted older brother, Adam expected unconditional support and understanding. As a conflicted middleman, Sam drank.

_A lot._

Dean shoved the last pair of questionable socks in the bag, roughly yanking the drawstring tight, wrapping it around his hand before hauling the whole damn thing onto his shoulder.

"Be back later," was all he said, before slamming the door behind him.

Sam ran a hand over his face, wondering if it'd be tacky to text Dean to bring back more beer when the laundry was finished.

From behind him, a muffled _whump!_ followed by frustrated guttural noises signalled the first round, where Sam tried to placate each brother separately in the hope that they'd reconcile when back together. It had yet to happen.

"This isn't fair, Sam, and you know it!"

...And so it began.

Sam sighed, clicking his laptop shut and swiveling to face his younger brother. The total indignation on Adam's face was a painful reminder of his own bullheadedness as a teenager. "Look, try to see this from Dean's side. Being a hunter is - "

"What I want to do! I _know_ it's dangerous. I'm not stupid - my mom is fucking _dead_ , Sam. But I have to do _some_ thing! I can't go back to school and pretend none of this ever happened! I'm supposed to, what, just...just go to math class and wonder if the teacher's a Goddamn ghoul waiting to get its revenge on a Winchester? Fuck that!"

Sam nodded, elbows on knees while his hands clasped and unclasped. This argument was old, and Adam's reasons were sound.

"But he won't even listen! It's not like I'm demanding an assault rifle! But I need to know how to protect myself, and what I'm protecting myself _from_ , don't you think?" Adam plowed on. "This is crap, Sam, and you know it."

Why did they always interrupt themselves to ask whether he agreed? It wasn't like they listened to him anyway.

"You know what? If he won't let me help, then I'll find someone who will."

Whoa, there.

Sam sat up. "Hold on, Adam."

"Dude, I'm _done_ holding on. Are you gonna help me or what?" If he were standing, Sam was sure Adam's hands would've been on his hips.

Sighing, Sam frantically thought up something to pacify his brother. He actually agreed with Adam, it's just that he saw Dean's side as well. He had just settled on something neutral, when the door unexpectedly opened, revealing a grumpy, damp Dean.

Everyone stared at each other until Dean pointed at the closet. "Forgot the soap."

Dean took all of two steps, and then the shit hit the fan.

"Sam's gonna teach me how to hunt."

Dean froze, hand outstretched. Sam froze, jaw on the floor. Adam froze, waiting for the inevitable Deansplosion.

Instead, Dean straightened, eyes locked on Adam. "Sam?"

Sam swallowed, trying not to look like a little kid afraid of his big brother, but totally feeling it on the inside. "Look, Dean - "

"Outside."

Without sparing Sam a glance, Dean turned on his heels and marched outside, not bothering to temper the door slam behind him.

Sam hung his head, giving Adam a decent dose of The Eyes. Adam, at least, had the good graces to blush and sputter. "I'm sorry, Sam! I thought it'd get him to talk about it more or something. He's just so…"

"Unreachable. Yeah, I know. It's okay. Just...stay here. _Please_."

Adam nodded, regret and sorrow etched onto his features. Sam wasn't mad. He understood how frustrating it was to not be heard in this family. Especially when it was for your "own good".

_Ugh_.

Sam quietly shut the door, meeting Dean at the Impala. Pursed lips, arms folded across his chest, cheek muscle doing that twitching thing. _Fuuuuuck…_

"Dean, listen to me, okay? I - "

Dean rolled his eyes, waving him off. "I know you didn't promise him shit, Sam. Don't worry." He sighed, dragging a hand down his face.

Sam sagged against the trunk in relief. "Thank God. But then what - "

Dean pushed himself off the car. "It's kinda funny, huh? You spent years fighting Dad to get out of hunting, and he's fighting me to get in." He shook his head, rubbing the back of his neck. "I couldn't keep you out. Azazel made his move and I know it was beyond me, but still."

Sam kept quiet, letting Dean finish.

"This life sucks, man. I needed to know he was serious before we did anything."

Nodding a little, Sam met Dean's eyes. "So. Making him run?"

The corner of Dean's mouth lifted. "Hell, yeah."

**xxxxx**

_**Three Weeks Later…** _

"Jesus, Adam, we're digging, not going to a strip joint."

"I don't care that we're digging. I'm helping, man. That's the cool part. Which shovel is mine?"

Dean rolled his eyes, handing over a shovel to the kid bouncing on his heels, a ridiculous grin spread across his face. "Take this one. It's heavier."

"Awesome!"

Sam bit his lip to keep from laughing as Dean rolled his eyes again. "Okay, you remember what to do?"

Before Dean had the trunk shut, Adam was already heading to the grave, head nodding, eyes glinting. "Yep - the shovel goes into the ground, I pull up dirt, then - "

Dean smacked him across the back of the head, "Try again, asshole."

Adam flashed Sam a grin, who no longer contained his laughter.

Since when did they laugh while digging up a grave? _Yeesh…_

"Okay, okay." Adam's face grew serious as the brothers fell in sync, stepping over and around grave markers. "I gotta keep my eyes open, be ready for temperature drops and sudden appearances of pissed off douchebag spirits who don't understand that their place isn't here. The shovels have iron fillings and salt decoupaged onto the flat end, in case I can't get to the shotgun filled with salt rounds."

"Decoupaged?" Dean asked, brow wrinkling.

"Nevermind, Dean. What else?" Sam asked. "What's the most important part?"

They stopped at the site, Adam leaning on the shovel handle, giving Sam a hardcore _Are You Serious?_ look.

He was met with an equally hardcore _Duh_ look, followed by a head tilt by Dean.

Sighing, Adam rolled his eyes. "Don't shoot either of you."

Dean clapped his shoulder. "Perfect. Since you're so excited, you and Sam can break ground. I'll break open a beer, and cheer you on." He twirled his hand in the air, reached in the cooler for a beer and sat, saluting his brothers as a finale.

Even though the dirt was fairly loose and the night air fresh and cool, all three were lathered in sweat and grime by the time they hit the coffin. Adam's shovel landed on the wooden box first.

"Yahtzee!"

As he climbed out, Dean glanced at Sam. _That's my word…_

Sam shrugged back. _He's your protegé._ "You wanna pry it open?"

With a grin on his face, Adam passed up the shovel, making _gimme gimme_ motions for the crowbar. He dug in, his brothers watching with a beer each. "I know this seems silly to you guys...but it means a lot...that you're letting me be a part of this." He paused between words, gasping for air as he pushed and tugged on the coffin.

Sam and Dean exchanged a look/shrug combo. Dean took a swig from his bottle, eyeing Sam. _It helps to have someone else dig._

Sam took his own sip. _Amen to that._

Adam leaned on the crowbar, tossing up a saucy look. "Besides, having someone younger to help - "

An arm shot through the wooden box, grabbing Adam's leg and pulling it out from under him. His head slammed against the rim as he fell, motionless and still.

" _ **Adam!**_ " Dean roared, leaping into the grave. Sam primed the shotgun, and once Dean cleared the still groping limb, he shot twice into the head of the box. Splinters flew, a few scratching Dean's face and arms as he shielded his brother from the blast.

Blood gushed from the side of Adam's head. "Adam... _Adam!_ " Dean cupped his chin, trying to examine the wound and determine whether he could be moved.

"Dean!"

Instinctively, Dean clutched Adam's body close, as ripples from within the coffin jostled him back and forth. Didn't matter if Adam should be moved or not - _he was being moved_.

On a mental count of one, Dean hoisted Adam over his shoulder, standing precariously on the quivering box. The corpse's arm was back, joined by a second, punching their way through the wood.

"Take him!"

Dropping the gun, Sam reached down and grabbed Adam under the arms. He winced as his brother's head lolled to the side, warm blood seeping through Sam's shirt.

The second Adam was out of Dean's grasp, he snatched the fallen shotgun and fired every salt round into the body to stall for time. He leapt out, throwing the box of salt and container of accelerant into the grave, the latter hitting a halfway decomposed head that managed to thrust its way through a large hole. The match hit home, lighting up the corpse and sending the spirit... _wherever_.

Not here, was all he cared about.

Dean spun around to find Adam on the ground, still unconscious, and Sam, forehead wrinkled with worry, investigating the head would in the moonlight. He crouched down, chewing on his upper lip, needing to ask but afraid of the answer. "How is he?"

Sam shook his head, dabbing at the blood. "Concussion for sure - he hit pretty hard. He's not responsive at all."

Dean nodded, and their eyes met. Without saying a word, they knew what they had to do.

_Hospital_.

**xxxxx**

A machine beeped.

Constantly.

_Some_ where.

Sam was tempted to wander the neighboring rooms and smash it. He settled for sighing and shifting his weight on the small lounge chair in the corner of Adam's room. He thought about using the ottoman, but it was too much effort to spend the two minutes it would take to get comfortable.

A quick glance across the room showed Dean, ever vigilant, at Adam's bedside, eyes locked on their younger brother, watching his chest rise and fall.

Waiting for his eyes to open.

It was kinda surreal, to be in a position to watch how Dean handled unconscious, hospitalized little brothers. He tried not to stare, but honestly, he couldn't take his eyes off the raw emotion displayed on Dean's face, a sight he'd rarely witnessed. The worry, fear, anxiety, regret, anger...all competing with exhaustion, depleted adrenaline, and his own aches and pains.

When Dean started shaking his head in response to a conversation only he was privy to, Sam knew he had to step in. Swallowing down a smidge of jealousy (which made him feel like a huge asshole), Sam regrouped and focused on the only problem he could affect.

_Dean_.

Sam stood, stretching, and dragged the chair closer to the opposite side of the bed. Dean's eyes tracked him, clearly annoyed that Sam wasn't sleeping. Sam rolled his eyes (the jealousy washing away) and tilted his chin at Dean.

"You okay?"

"I'm not the one in the hospital bed."

Sam sighed. "Don't."

"Don't _what?_ "

Sam pointed a finger at him. "Don't say it."

Frown, but the eyes were suspicious. "Don't say _what?_ "

"The same bullshit you always say."

Blink, blink...blink. "Not really in the mood for cryptic shit, Sam."

Sam hung his head a second, before lifting his eyes to Dean. In a lowered voice meant to sound like Dean, he intoned, "I'm fine, I shouldn't be fine, it should've been me, I should've seen it coming, this is my fault."

They blinked at each other.

"Fuck you."

Sam sighed. "Dean - "

Dean waved him off. "I know, I know, _I know_ , alright? It wasn't my fault. This is the risk we take every time we hunt." He sighed, eyes back on Adam. "I just...did it have to be his first time out? I mean, seriously? Is our luck really that shitty?"

Sam scratched behind his ear. "First off, yes, our luck's really that shitty." Dean grunted. "And I agree with you...having him get hurt on his first hunt…"

"It _sucks_."

"I know."

Dean dragged a hand down his face. "He'll be fine, I know he'll be fine. It just wasn't fair."

Sam couldn't argue with that, so he simply nodded, leaned back, and helped keep watch, like a good big brother.

It was another few hours before Adam began to stir. Both Sam and Dean perked up instantly, exhaustion forgotten as hope and _Thank Fucking God_ flooded through them.

"Hey there…" Dean leaned down. "Can you hear me?"

Adam's answer was in the form of small groaning noises, but he turned his head slightly toward Dean's voice, which Dean decided was a point in their favor.

Encouraged, he kept talking, while motioning for Sam to grab...someone. _Anyone_. "You gave us quite a scare...how about you open your eyes, huh?"

Frowning, Adam peeled one eye open.

Dean smiled, picking up Adam's hand. "There you go. Sam's getting a doctor, okay? Just...hold on."

Adam nodded, wincing when his head moved, letting that eye slip back closed.

Sam returned, a little breathless. "I told the nurse. She's paging a doctor and will be here in a...second." Sam faltered a little at the sight of Dean holding Adam's hand. This time, it wasn't jealousy he felt, but rather an overwhelming sense of how deeply Dean felt about family, little brothers in particular.

Dean nodded, eyes still trained on Adam.

"S'm?"

Sam hurried to Adam's side, his eyes flickered to Dean before leaning down. "Hey, Adam...I'm here…"

"D'ja gt'it?

Both brothers chuckled. "Yeah, Adam, we got it."

Adam cracked that eye open again, giving Sam a hardcore look. "Dn't let'm bench me."

"I'm right here, you know," Dean protested.

Adam snorted.

Sam patted up his other hand, ignoring Dean. "I won't. I promise."

"…'kay. 'M good. Jus' gimme a day..."

**xxxxx**

The silence in the motel room was _much_ more than a tad on the awkward side, the blow-up from ten minutes ago still simmering within each Winchester's head. Wind howled outside, rattling the windows and scattering debris across the parking lot.

Dean sat on the edge of a bed, head in his hands, trying to lower his blood pressure. Adam was on the couch, ice pack on his temple, a blanket pulled up to his neck. Surly didn't quite cover the expression on his face.

Sam…

Sam once again sat at the table, openly nursing a beer, debating whether he should peel the label off the bottle before or after he finished it.

Sighing, Dean dropped his hands on his thighs, turning to face Sam. "This is ridiculous."

"Thanks for talking about me as if I wasn't in the room."

"I was not only talking about you as if you weren't in the room, I was pointedly not talking _to_ you."

Adam shifted the ice pack. "You're being an _ass_ hole."

" _You're_ being a _ba_ by."

"You're _both_ being babies _and_ assholes," Sam interjected, deciding to peel the label right then and there to avoid glancing up at Dean, and also, hopefully, avoiding the obvious _But Are We Baby Assholes_ punchline. "But you're both _right_. So maybe take five minutes to simmer down before starting up again."

Sam could feel them staring, but he was past the point of giving a shit. The two weeks Adam's been out of the hospital have been nothing but nonstop arguing over when he should return to hunting. Once again, Sam felt caught in the middle, seeing value on both sides, frustrated that they couldn't do the same.

Adam rolled over, burying his face against the back of the couch, adjusting the ice pack with a grunt. The blanket slipped off his shoulder, but he didn't bother fixing it.

Dean frowned in his direction, sighing as he walked over and gently tucked Adam in.

Adam graciously sniffled a thank you.

Dean threw his hands in the air, silently pleading with Sam for help. Sam set down his beer, gesturing with his head for Dean to move away. With another irritated huff, Dean mouthed, " _Fine!_ ", grabbed a beer, and crammed himself into a chair at the table. Sam sat on the couch, placing one hand on Adam's shoulder.

"We need to talk about this."

"I'm tired, Sam."

Sam pinched the bridge of his nose. "Adam... _stop it_. Talk to me."

Adam let out a breath and rolled over, staring at the ceiling. "What do you want me to say? I've already told you - "

"You've _told_ us, Adam. We never _talked_." Sam took the ice pack out of Adam's grasp. "What's really bothering you?"

Adam's lower lip actually quivered, his eyes rolling a little, staring anywhere but at or near Sam. "I'm scared, okay?"

"Scared of what?" Dean asked, leaning forward until his elbows on his knees. "The monsters?"

Adam bit his lip. "No…''

"Adam?"

"Letting you down again, _okay?"_ He snatched the icepack out of Sam's hands, and rolled over with a sigh.

Dean blinked at his back, straightening as he set his beer on the table. "Come again? You don't wanna hunt because you think you let us down?!"

_Fuck_...Sam knew where this was headed: Competing guilt and blame, duking it out for the championship title. Resolutely pointing a finger at Dean, he barked, "Not another word."

Dean's head retreated.

"I mean it, Dean. This wasn't your fault."

Adam glanced over his shoulder. "How would it be his fault?"

Sam waved a hand at him. "Exactly."

"He wasn't the one in the grave."

Sam blinked. "Wait, _no_ \- "

"You're right, Adam. I _wasn't_ in the grave. I was sippin' beer, _on_ _watch_."

Oh, _JesusChrist_. Sam hung his head, wishing they were at Bobby's.

Adam rolled over. "You were trusting me to do the job, and I missed the ..."

"If anyone missed anything, it was me, because I was…"

Sam snapped. " _Enough!_ " The universe was so startled at Sam's outburst, even the wind paused. "You two have been fighting like this for over a fucking month." He got to his feet, pacing the small room, flinging irritation like beads at a Mardi Gras parade. He jabbed a finger at Adam. "In the hospital, you were all... _don't let him bench me, Sam. I can still do this, Sam_. And _you_ ," Dean's turn. "You were all, _give him some time, Sam. Let's make sure he's healed up, Sam_. And _now…_ " He backed up a step so he could Sam Bitchface both at the same time. "Now, you're reversing roles while playing the Self-Loathing, I Don't Deserve To Breathe game."

Massaging his forehead, Sam paused a second. "I _hate_ that game," he whispered. Dropping his hands, he sighed, the anger rush from a moment ago drained away. "You both know damn well it was no one's fault. No reason for disappointment or second guessing. Now, we can either go to Bobby's and lie low for a while, or go east, where I found another hunt. Figure it out while I grab dinner."

He snatched up his jacket, muttering to himself as he struggled to shove his arms in the sleeves, "Figures I'd have to have two of them. Exactly the same. Fucking figures." A little louder, he added, "I'm getting more beer, too." The door slammed behind him, and before long, the Impala started up.

They hesitantly exchanged sheepish looks.

Sitting up, Adam passed the ice pack between hands, eyes on the floor.

Dean broke the silence with a nod toward the door. "He was on watch, too."

Adam nodded, glancing up. " _We_ were talking, _he_ was just standing there." He swung his legs to the floor.

Dean nodded back in agreement, before setting his bottle on the table with a sigh. "Look, Adam...the thing about hunting monsters is... _they're_ _monsters_. Some of them have rules they have to follow, but most of the time, crazy-assed shit happens that wasn't expected." He gestured at his brother. "A simple salt and burn can turn into - "

"Major head trauma. I know. I've seen you guys come back hurt all the time. It's just…" Adam sighed, tossing the ice pack onto the couch. "It's just that I wanted to show you I could do it, you know? I wanted to be a part of it."

"Dude, you are a part of it, and we've always known you could do it. That's not in question. But if you're gonna do this, then you gotta get back in there."

"Christ, our luck just _sucks._ "

Dean saluted him, and they sat in silence. Adam finally asked, "Sam's pissed at us, isn't he?"

Dean's mouth cinched to the side. "Nah. He's just getting a taste of what it feels like to be caught in the middle. He'll be fine."

"What do you think he found out east?"

"Knowing him, probably a pixie."

**xxx end xxx**

_**A/N: Next one's all about Adam, too - could sort of be considered a sequel, or at least in this little AU.** _


	12. Adam's Sick

The music had to be _inside_ Adam's skull.

Rhythmic, measured, pulsing, _throbbing_.

He turned in his seat, trying to gauge how much longer until Dean finished wiping out the pockets of the small crowd gathered around the pool table.

"Not much longer," Sam murmured, not looking up from his laptop. "We'll leave in a couple minutes."

Adam nodded, wincing a little at the movement. He sipped some water, noting in surprise, that at some point Sam finished Adam's beer, along with most of his own.

"Yeah, sorry about that. I wasn't paying attention and thought your bottle was mine. You want another one?"

Adam glanced up at Sam's guilty face, and smiled. "No big deal. We're leaving anyway. I can grab one from the cooler later."

Sam nodded, relief washing over his face before returning to the screen.

Adam laughed to himself. Sam felt guilt at the weirdest shit. He was glad the beer was gone, actually. He'd taken some Tylenol earlier, and had no intention of drinking tonight. But Dean was in character, and ordered a round for their table before sauntering off to make money.

Some girls shrieked when the song changed, hurtling themselves toward the dance floor, startling some of the pool players. Techno Nite wasn't what one expected at a tiny dive bar in the middle of nowhere. Adam rubbed his forehead, wondering if his headache would ever go away.

The laptop clicked shut, and Sam drained his beer from the other end of the table. "Alrighty. Let's head out."

In sync, the brothers stood, made sure they had everything, then headed for the door without a backward glance at Dean, whose laughter somehow managed to cut through the music. Cool air, tinged with a hint of rain, rushed Adam's face when the door opened. Shivering, he pulled his jacket closer, huddling inside.

Keys jingled to his left, signalling the promise of worn leather seats and a cool window for his aching head. Behind them, the door burst open, followed by a round of raucous laughter.

"You almost had me, you sonofabitch!" Dean had that perfect blend of slurred speech and coherence.

"Goddamn, I was close. But you sank that shot, Welston. No idea how you managed it, but you did!"

"I dunno, either! That was pure fuckin' luck, man. Had an angel on my shoulder, or somethin'."

Sam snorted, rolling his eyes at Adam who ducked his head to hide the smile spreading across his face. Dean exchanged pleasantries for a couple minutes, thanking the poor sap for gracefully (albeit unknowingly) losing to a hustler.

The door unlocked, and Adam quietly slid into the backseat, enjoying the absence of the music's bass beating in his head. It'd been a month since his head injury, and he was still sensitive to some loud noises. They had to put off teaching him how to shoot until it completely passed.

Dean joined them with a nod, and pulled the Impala onto the road. Once clear, Sam turned in his seat. "So. I take it you won?"

Dean flashed a grin before reaching into his pocket and tossing a wad of bills into Sam's lap. "See for yourself."

Sam let out a low whistle as he flipped through the money. "Nice. On to Castleton, now?"

"Yup. Bobby's buddy has that nice little problem near the Catskills."

Their voices blurred together, as Adam leaned against the window and closed his eyes. The cool glass felt fantastic on his headache, and he drifted to sleep.

**xxxxx**

Adam woke with a start, arms flailing a bit as his subconscious mind caught up to his conscious mind, realizing a few seconds later that he wasn't in any danger.

Fucking nightmares.

He scrubbed at his face and sat up, noting that the gummy feeling in his head hadn't lessened.

"Good morning," Dean sang. "Although it's not really morning. Sam's in the can. Something about the pizza we had last night and his inability to eat like a man. You need to visit the little boys room while we're stopped?"

Adam blinked and looked around. They were parked next to a questionable looking gas station, which meant that Sam's situation was a tad more dire than presented if he actually went inside.

Adam wasn't sure he wanted to _go_ in a questionable looking gas station and a presumably equally questionable bathroom after his brother probably decimated it with last night's confirmably questionable pizza.

Besides, the thought of leaving the warm interior of the car was absolutely unappealing. His headache was still present, lingering behind his eyes uncomfortably. He ducked his head and sneezed, blinking afterwards.

"Bless you," Dean murmured absently, rooting through a bag of M&Ms. "So, potty break or no?"

Adam sniffed. "Nah, I'm good." He grabbed a napkin off the floor, swiping at his nose before settling back against the seat. He glanced out the window, spying Sam checking out, then making his way back to the Impala, a paper bag clutched to his chest.

"How's it goin', Sammy?" Dean crooned, starting the engine.

"Fuck you," Sam grated, tossing the bag on the seat between them.

Dean chuckled as he drove out of the parking lot, "Aw, c'mon. Is it that bad?"

Adam closed his eyes, a smile on his lips. The smile faded, however, when a second sneeze caught him off guard. Luckily, his brothers were too busy bantering over whether one could actually shit one's brains out, to notice that he was probably getting sick.

It fucking _sucked_.

Adam's first hunt was ruined by an unexpected spirit. He was just getting into the swing of hunting, and was looking forward to this next one. If they found out he was coming down with something, he'd be benched for sure.

Determined to get his shit under control, because that's what Winchesters totally do with an illness, Adam decided to take another nap, and try to head this thing off.

**xxxxx**

"Hey, sleepyhead. We're here."

Adam blinked, the interior of the Impala slowly coming into focus. "Where are we?"

"New York. C'mon - Sam's getting a room."

Nodding, Adam struggled to sit, hating the way his whole head slogged. He spied a brand new tissue box on the floor and grabbed a few, wiping his nose before joining Dean at the trunk, already pulling out bags. By the time Adam made it back there, Sam returned, tapping key cards against his palm.

"Hey," Adam asked, "Feelin' better?" He figured focusing on Sam's ailment was better than focusing on his.

"Huh? Oh, _that_. Yeah, it...passed."

Dean snickered.

"How many times do I have to tell you to fuck off, Dean?"

"As many times as you want, Princess. Come on - I'm beat."

Sam and Dean grabbed bags, leaving two duffels for Adam to take. He picked them up, thanking the heavens they were light, and followed his brothers into the room. Sam plopped his bags on the table. "We got lucky - the couch folds out, so no sharing tonight."

Adam sighed in relief - the last thing he wanted was to be sick next to one of them in bed. There was no way he could keep it off their radar if that happened.

"What? Those rooms cost extra," Dean griped, tossing his bag on a chair. "All my hard earned cash - "

"That cash you stole?"

"I did not _steal_ it. I _earned_ it."

"It's all the motel had left, Dean. You wanna drive another hour to save twenty bucks?"

Sam turned to Adam, rolling _his_ eyes, oblivious to Dean making faces at his back.

Normally, Adam would've laughed. But tonight, his mind was whirling with ideas. The couch was farthest away, so…"I'll take the couch," he offered. Sam was about to protest, but Adam cut him off. "I'm shorter than you - that thing will kill your back."

Ha - _that_ stopped him.

"Thanks, man," was what Sam said instead.

"No problem." As Adam rooted around his bag for a clean shirt that he really didn't need right then, he took stock of how he felt, distantly aware of his brothers bickering over what to eat for dinner. He tentatively swallowed, mentally cursing at the beginnings of a sore throat. His head still felt foggy, even though he was now fully awake. And while he may have been fully awake, he was tired as fuck.

_Simply. Awesome_.

He _had_ to stay under their radar so he could still participate in this hunt. "Hey, I'm gonna take a shower."

Dean pointed at him. "Do _not_ use all the hot water. What do you wanna eat?"

Adam shrugged, picking up his bag and walking to the bathroom. "I'm not that hungry, so anything's fine. Get whatever works for Sam's stomach." He closed the door behind him, muffling Dean's options for what was best for Sam's stomach, which were all vehemently shot down by Sam.

**xxxxx**

The shower felt nice and all, but Adam was too focused on not using a lot of hot water, so it was definitely brief. When he emerged from the bathroom, towel drying wet hair, Dean was on the phone. "Yeah...my sister wants the dressing on the side." A balled up sheet of paper beaned him on the back of his head. Not missing a beat, he continued with the conversation. "Great, see you then."

Dean stooped to retrieve the wad of paper from under a chair. "Quit bein' a slob, Sammy."

"Quit being a dick."

"I _am_ a dick. A _huuuuuuge_ one."

Sam sighed, shaking his head. "You're useless, you know that?" He turned to Adam, who was tucking his bag next to the couch, trying very hard to hide his face. A quick peek in the mirror had revealed signs of a fever, glowing from both cheeks, so he figured the best route was to hide. "Hey...would you check over the med kit real quick - see what supplies we need? We'll run to the store and get more stuff before picking up dinner."

Dean piped up. "I know we're out of those square bandages and Tylenol. We should get Gatorade and crackers, too. Come outside when you're ready, Sam. I need to check Baby over...I think she needs new wiper blades. I'll drive." He left the room, gently closing the door behind him.

Adam carried the kit to the couch, marveling at how quickly Dean flipped between calling Sam a girl and making sure they had Gatorade and crackers for his stomach.

He bit his lip when shivering tried to announce that Adam Winchester had a problem.

After yet another quick swipe at his nose, Adam began rooting through the kit, recognizing his chance. "Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"Okay - we, uh, we're down to one tube of antibiotic cream, we could use a couple new ice packs…" Adam shook a bottle that barely rattled. "Yeah, definitely need Tylenol, and the...cough syrup's all gone." He finished with a tiny shrug, like this was no big deal, just doin' what you asked.

Sam sighed, patting down his pockets. "Good thing he scored that cash. Okay...sit tight. Maybe look up some info on the location Bobby sent. There has to be something we can use. We'll be right back."

Adam nodded, fiddling with a package of bandaids. "Yeah, okay."

The door shut behind Sam, and Adam slouched, wondering how long he could keep this up, especially if Sam didn't come back with more than Tylenol.

Sighing, he pulled the laptop onto his lap, and began a search for which buildings had a past ripe for elemental poltergeists. He lasted ten minutes before falling asleep on the couch, the laptop cradled in his arms.

**xxxxx**

Sam left the motel room with a sigh.

Dean was leaning on the Impala, rubbing his jaw. "He needs a lot more medicine, man."

Nodding, Sam joined him. "I know. I'll slip it all in the kit where he'll find it, and keep track of what he's taking."

"I dunno. Maybe we should - "

" _Dean_. We're not benching him. Come on - how many times did you hunt sick with Dad, huh? We can't take this away from him, not after his first hunt got ruined."

Dean pushed himself off the car, making his way to the driver's door while pointing at Sam with the keys. "I won't let him get hurt again, Sam. Not over his pride."

Sam just stared back, hoping that the silent treatment would help sink in the irony of Dean's statement.

Dean huffed. "You know what I mean."

_Score_. "Stick to the original plan." Sam went to the passenger side, joining Dean inside the car. "Let him keep thinking we don't know he's sick. We'll keep making supplies and meds available, control what he does on this hunt, and he'll be fine."

" _Then_ we're going to Bobby's where he can get over it all," Dean added, starting the engine and pulling out of the parking lot.

Sam held up his hands. "No argument there! I just...he needs this, Dean. We gotta help him."

"I know, I know. But if he tanks on the meds, we have to bench him. It's not safe."

"Agreed."

**xxxxx**

Head pounding, Adam slowly woke, a steady rhythm beating in his head. He was about to tell Dean to turn down the music, when he realized... _riiiiight_...no music. Blinking groggily, he rubbed his eyes, grimacing at the uncomfortable, achy, blechiness he felt all over.

Blurry vision tried to focus on two brothers, stretched out on the beds, watching TV. Before he could stop, he sneezed into the blanket that... _he didn't remember having earlier._

"Morning, Princess," Dean called out.

Still unwilling to admit he was sick, Adam froze, not sure what to say or do. He tentatively swallowed - yup, throat was sore. That meant his voice could be compromised. He tentatively sniffed - yup, nose was running. That meant he'd sound congested. A tickle began in the back of his throat - yup, coughing was about to happen. Not to mention he fell asleep without doing any research, after having been asleep pretty much all day.

He was screwed.

"We let you get your beauty rest since you found that info on the hunt."

What the..."Huh?" That was all he could come up with.

Sam swung his legs to the floor, crossing the room to a table, where, _oh hey,_ the laptop now sat. He chuckled. "We took a lot longer at the store than we should've. Jesus, the lines were insane." He shook his head, picking up the laptop and heading back to the bed.

Dean absently changed channels, eyes glued to the TV as he spoke. "I still think you should be shot for having that many coupons. Anyway, we finally get back, and there you were, practically using the computer as a pillow, a dozen tabs open and text highlighted." He pointed at Adam. "That's dedication."

Adam's eyebrows rose. _Really?_ He researched in his sleep? That was... _fucking lucky_.

Sam rolled his eyes, settling back in bed with the laptop. "No, it's like having free labor at your disposal."

Dean scoffed. "Come on, I don't think of it like that."

Even feverish, Adam knew better.

Apparently, so did Sam. "Really? Is that why you told me how great it was to have someone around who could do the heavy lifting?"

Adam cleared his throat, desperately trying to hold in the cough that threatened to escape. Nonchalantly, he stood, stretched, and headed to the bathroom. He could still hear their banter through the door, but he had no idea what they were really saying. All he could do was stare at himself in the mirror.

Hair stood up everywhere, flopping over this way and that. His eyes drooped, his nose was bright pink, and in plain, simple terms, he looked like shit. Complete, warmed over, shit.

Who was so desperate to hide how he felt, he was doing it while unconscious.

Adam splashed cold water on his face, and was about to head back into the other room and find out what research he completed when the spotted the mini med kit on top of the toilet tank. He reflexively checked over his shoulder to see if anyone was watching, blushing when all he saw was the closed bathroom door. A quick rummage revealed _holy shit!_ Tylenol, Dayquil, cough drops _with menthol_ , and lozenges for sore throats.

He couldn't believe his luck! Thank God the med kit was low on supplies. Cinching his mouth to the side, he tried to figure out which to take. There were too many symptoms, so he went with the Dayquil, which would also help the fever. Once the dose (and a little extra) were down the hatch, he pocketed some lozenges and cough drops, then returned the kit where he found it.

Feeling much better, Adam rejoined his brothers.

**xxxxx**

The next night was chilly and damp - _of course_ it was. Adam stood in the motel room trying to figure out the best way to carry several pounds of tissues and lozenges when a wad of fabric hit him in the head. Looking up, Sam gave him a half-hearted shrug.

"I, uh, got a new sweatshirt at the store, but it's the wrong size. The hanger said it was an extra large, but apparently it's only a medium. We don't have time to return it so…" He shrugged again, turning away to continue packing supplies for the hunt.

Adam stared at it, noting the deep pockets, thick fleece and drawstring hood. Christ, it was perfect. "Sweet - thanks, Sam."

Sam smiled over his shoulder. "No problem."

Dean strolled back inside, rubbing his hands together in an effort to warm them up. "Jesus, why do we always have to hunt when it's cold and wet out?"

"We have shit luck," Adam and Sam chorused.

Dean waggled a finger at them. "Very good, children. You're learning. Alright. We ready to banish this thing?"

Sam nodded. "Yep - everything's packed so we can skip town as soon as we're done. Just need to put this in the trunk."

"Awesome," Dean said. "Adam - grab the med kit and make sure Samantha put everything we bought in there. If he stubs his toe tonight, I wanna make sure the ACE bandages are ready to go."

"You're really not funny, Dean."

"Are you kidding? I'm the only one here who's funny. Gimme that bag and let's get it packed away. Meet us at the car, kid."

Without waiting for an answer, Dean and Sam left the room, leaving Adam alone with the med kit.

And all its contents.

Just... _there_ , practically _begging_ people to help themselves to whatever lie inside.

Within a couple minutes, Adam crammed his pockets full of Kleenex, downed a double shot of cold medicine, and stashed lozenges under the tissues. By the time he finished, he looked like a squirrel prepping for winter.

He just had to get through this hunt, he told himself. Then, he could fess up, and stop holding back every cough and sneeze that snuck up on him.

Prickles up and down his body definitively confirmed the elevated temperature. It made his head fuzzy, knocked his balance a little to the left, and dulled his reaction time.

Sniffling, Adam hefted the med kit and joined his waiting brothers at the Impala.

The drive to the office building didn't take long. Or...maybe it did. Adam wasn't sure. He was too preoccupied debating what to do. The closer they got, the more worried he became. It was _stupid_ to hunt while sick. What if he got one of them hurt? Or worse?

They parked in the back, where only two lights functioned enough to provide some light. Dean got out as soon as the car stopped, dragging a hand down his face before proceeding to the trunk. Sam joined him, and Adam took an extra minute to blow his nose and stall for time, trying to decide whether he should bow out.

He then proceeded to sneeze so hard, he saw stars.

_Okay_. Bowing out.

With a sigh, Adam stepped out of the Impala, shuffling toward the trunk. Before he could say anything, Dean handed him a shotgun. "Okay. Normally, we'd all go in there and shove the hex bags in the walls, but this one's a little trickier than usual. I know we haven't really taught you the art of shooting things dead, but you can at least _handle_ a shotgun."

_Fuck_.

Adam cleared his throat, toeing the asphalt. "Uh, Dean…"

Dean interrupted him. "So what we want to do, is have you provide the distraction at the East entrance, since that's where this elemental is gonna gravitate, while we run around with the banishing spells."

Adam rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding eye contact. "I dunno…"

Dean shook his head. "You can do this. The most this thing's gonna do is piss and moan at you. If you see it, keep it busy by firing a round or two. It'll be drawn to the entrance and the shells in the gun, and that'll buy us time to do what we need to do."

It took Adam a second to figure it out. They wouldn't be near him. He couldn't accidentally shoot them. He just needed to stay alert and randomly pull the trigger if necessary. He could do that.

Dean set his jaw, as if ready for an argument. "Don't be mad, okay?"

Adam wet his lips, playing his part. Heaving a sigh, he "conceded". " _Yeah_ , it's fine. I'll stand guard. Someone has to, right? And this is my first hunt, so...yeah. No big deal. Really." He flashed a smile, totally convincing as the compliant little brother, being reasonable about his hunting assignment.

Dean clapped him on the shoulder. "That's our big boy. Now let's get going."

**xxxxx**

They left Adam clutching his gun in the entrance lobby, eyes darting this way and that for the poltergeist. Even from halfway down the corridor, they could tell he was shivering and swallowing down coughs.

Sam nudged Dean. "Elemental poltergeists are drawn to the east? Really?"

Dean shrugged, hefting a duffel bag higher on his shoulder. "It's all I had. We agreed to bench him if he tanked, and he's a fucking mess right now...but I can't. I know this is important to him."

Sam nodded in agreement, rifling through his own bag as they walked. "I know - not arguing with the decision. Just marveling at your excuse for leaving him behind in a part of the building this thing can't get to."

Shrugging again, Dean held open a door for Sam. "I used lamer shit on you when we were kids. He'll just stand there, bored as fuck. Come on. Let's get this thing banished and get him to Bobby's."

**xxxxx**

Adam barely managed to stay awake until his brothers returned. He perked up at Dean's whistle, wiping his face on a sleeve and forcing a smile. "All set?" he asked, handing over the gun in relief. "Nothing showed up, here."

Dean's brow furrowed as he took the gun. "Really? That's odd. We didn't see it either - thought it was down here with you. That's weird."

Sam snapped his fingers, turning to Dean. "Maybe it sensed him waiting."

They voiced various possibilities for why the poltergeist remained hidden, Dean careful not to visibly limp, and Sam not carrying anything with his right arm.

Once the weapons were stowed, they climbed in the car, Adam settling into a corner of the back seat, his eyes slipping closed before he could stop them. A blanket settled over him, and he promptly fell asleep.


	13. Funny Meeting You Here

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's been a while. This was a fill for a Secret Santa exchange...the first thing I've written in months. All characters are canon, despite your initial impression.

  
  


Advanced Biology 204 was more a means to an end than the result of devout interest. I was more concerned with how body parts operated and were connected in the event something sharp and talony happened to puncture one.

With a sigh, I spun the hefty textbook counterclockwise, marveling at how the vessels formed an image very akin to the I-55/I-94 interchange in Chicago.

I was just about to map out an imaginary path to McCormick Place when a flurry of movement caught my eye. The glass door did a decent job keeping out minimal sounds in the library while still allowing a view of the numerous study carrels filling spaces between shelves of books. By the time I glanced up, a pile of books lie scattered on the floor, and a flustered, disheveled student scrambled to pick them up.

A couple tables full of grad students glared his way, as he set each book, one at a time, on the nearest table, which, I noted, was covered in notebooks and more books. They had to be grad students...no undergrad stayed on campus during winter break. But this guy...this... _ kid _ ... _ had _ to be an undergrad. 

But...no undergrad stayed on campus during winter break. 

Well. 

Except me.

_ Hmmm _ ...

Chewing on the cap of my highlighter, I narrowed my eyes, trying to suss out why the grads were being so openly hostile. When the last book was retrieved, I figured it out. The kid (he was probably my age, but he just  _ looked _ like a kid), still on one knee, braced himself against the table. One wrist slowly made its way to his face, pressing against his nose. His mouth hung open, his eyelids fluttered closed, and in one swift movement, his head snapped forward.

A balding asshole nearby (apparently I was on the kid’s side) slammed a book shut and stalked off. Two others rolled their eyes, and a third sighed dramatically. The kid, blinking rapidly as he fumbled for what turned out to be a miserable looking tissue, looked around and blushed the deepest red I’d ever seen on a face.

So  _ that’s _ it. Poor guy’s sick, and probably disturbing everyone within earshot. 

All that, figured out without sound. I rolled my eyes. Lookit how I can piece shit together.

My own textbook forgotten, I found myself watching him. Moppy brown hair hung just above his eyes; not long enough to be in the way, but definitely long enough to warrant brushing it aside. Shoulders hunched, he settled into a chair, dabbed at his nose which was, unfortunately, already twitching again. 

He knew it, everyone around him knew it, and the entire group tried to pretend it wasn’t happening. I guessed he was making some noise, although I couldn’t hear diddly from my little room. He rubbed his nose on his sleeve and opened a book, his expression declaring to the world that he fully intended to read instead of losing control and disturbing thesis-stricken grad students. 

But alas, that was not the case.

He’d turned two pages, clearly without reading a single word through watery, fluttering eyes. Mouth open again, he groped in his pockets for what I guessed were more tissues, came up empty, and just let two rip into the crook of his arm. 

Glancing to the right, I saw two girls muttering to each other, causing the kid to blush even more. And... _ hold the phone _ ...there was a Kleenex box on a ledge not five feet away. 

No one gave him one.

Before I fully realized what I was doing, I was on my feet and opening the door. In a rush, the hum of the heating system, scribbling, page turning, and a ragged, hitching breathing sound hit my ears. The kid was sniffling miserably, and yeah, it was kinda loud.

But he couldn’t help it.

I stomped past the snippy girls and snatched up the tissue box, shooting a nasty glance over my shoulder. 

So much for keeping to myself.

By the time I reached his table, his head reared back and without thinking, I grabbed a handful and shoved them against his face just in time. Also without thinking, as soon as he felt the cloud press against his face, he grabbed my hand, as if he himself were holding the wad of tissues, and sneezed, forceful and  _ Jesus _ ...loud as hell.

Cue an awkward pause as we both recognized what just happened. 

Bleary eyes blinked up at me, most of his face still covered by Kleenex. I gave a sort of smile/shrug, somehow passing off the clump with a little dignity. 

“Hi…” That was all I had.

He wiped his face and swallowed, utterly mortified. “Shit...I...uh...I’b...I’b so sorry…” 

_ Christ _ , he’s cute. 

I wet my lips and forced a bigger smile. I  _ am _ the one who barged in. Can’t be anti-social now. Bending low, I nodded toward my study room. “Look, I, um, I have a study room over there. It’s warm, and fairly sound proof so...you can just...uh...study…there...” I did another one-shoulder shrug and stood back up. 

He sniffled, peeked over his shoulder, a look of hope lighting up his face, but he ended up shaking his head. “Oh...I don’t...don’t wadda bother...” His voice trailed off into a massive sneeze. 

At least this time he had some tissues.

“Yeah, not a bother, trust me.” I shot another glare at the students nearby, who were sending  _ Go Away _ vibes via hostile looks and shitty little body movements. Without waiting for a response, I started gathering up his stuff.

Ancient Eastern Asian folklore...Mythical Creatures of The Forest...Civil Procedure: Theory and Practice...Problems in Contract Law: Cases and Materials...Arcane Rites and Rituals from the Renaissance.

I blinked. That was quite a reading list.

He blinked, noting that I noted his reading list.

Let the stammering begin. “I...uh...I have a...uh...a binor id...relig...religious… _ *sniff* _ ub...I like... _ dabbit-- _ **_HETSCH_ ** _ IYUUuu! _ ” 

“Oh,  _ come _ on!” Bald guy exclaimed, returning from his little walk, arms in the air like someone just stole his prized parking spot.

The kid’s stuff now in two piles, I casually swiveled my gaze on the asshole. “Fuck off,” I murmured, loud enough to be heard, not not loud enough to make a scene. He heard me though, and just gruffly sat in his seat mumbling to himself. The kid heard me, too, and breathed a little chuckle.

I raised an eyebrow.

He shook his head, pushing the hair off his forehead and sniffling. “You rebind me of by brother.”

Memories of my own brother flashed through my mind. Knock it off, Moore. Focus on what’s at hand.

I flashed a quick smile, but he saw my expression change. Fending off further comment, I shrugged my eyebrows at his stuff. “That everything?”

He nodded. “Yeah, but...are you sure - “

I scooped up some books and motioned for him to do the same. “Come on.”

With one last sniffle, he slid the second pile off the table, shouldered a tattered backpack, and shuffled behind me into the small room.

**xxxxx**

The door clicked shut, and he immediately muffled a grating cough into his sleeve. I checked the salt line, making sure it was still intact, even though I’d only been a few yards from the room.

Good habits are good habits for good reasons.

Despite being simultaneously surprised and proud of myself for taking the kid under my wing, I managed to check his reaction to crossing it. Not even a flinch.

Lucky for me, because I had no idea what I would’ve done if he did.

As I settled back into my chair, I passed the tissue box his way. Sniffling, he pulled a couple, hesitating only a moment before blowing his nose, finishing with an exhausted sigh. 

I opened my book and resumed reading and tracing diagrams, which was apparently a disguise for studying this plague-ridden undergrad. 

He kept glancing through the glass window, either looking for someone or checking out the relieved expressions on the patrons he was previously annoying. Speaking of which...one would think he’d sit with his back to them, so he couldn’t watch  _ them _ peek at  _ him _ while obviously talking to each other  _ about _ him.  But he didn’t...he sat next to me, facing outward.

_ Huh _ .

The table vibrated from his constantly bouncing leg. A pink tongue darted out to wet his lips every so often, which was easy to do when you have to breathe from your mouth. I could tell he had to cough, but he kept swallowing thickly and clearing his throat instead. He’d pinch his nose shut, twist away, and stifle, trying to look nonchalant with a handful of Kleenex.

It was stupid. The whole point of bringing him in here was so he didn’t worry about making noise. I reached into my backpack and pulled out some headphones, setting them on my head and turning on some music. A backhanded nudge inched the tissue box closer to him, and I made a show of nodding to the beat.

He didn’t need to know that the volume was practically nil.

His eyes darted to me before allowing a horrific cough past his lips.

What the hell was he doing in the library if he’s this sick?

_ More importantly _ , what the hell was  _ I _ doing inviting  _ him _ in  _ here _ ? I didn’t talk to  _ anyone _ on campus, let alone play nursemaid to a stranger. 

He sniffled again, rubbing an eye with the palm of his hand while the other swiped a Kleenex under his nose.

A  _ cute _ stranger, with really interesting reading habits.

After about fifteen minutes, I stopped sneak-peeking, finishing a diagram of a cluster of blood vessels, and he actually made progress through one of his books. It wasn’t one about case law, either. It was the one on forest creatures. Clearly looking for something specific, he skimmed pages, checking different chapters and the index rather than reading it cover to cover. 

Curious.

Studying continued, amidst some random sneezing and coughing. A half hour or so later, bright pink cheeks began to droop toward his chest, as a suspected fever dominated his body.

A loud knocking made us both jump. I automatically reached for the knife tucked into the back of my pants, and the kid had a hand inside his backpack in a flash. Our eyes met for barely a second before swiveling to the doorway, but not before both of us noting what the other just did.

_ Curiouser _ .

A blond guy stood at the door, giving my patient a  _ What The Fuck _ look. 

He called through the glass. “Are you  _ seriously _ fuckin’ studying while on break, Winchester? How typical and tragic. I thought you were leaving.”

The kid,  _ Winchester _ , shot me an apologetic look before clearing his throat. “Deand’s cobbig, Brady. He’s just ruddig late.”

Brady rolled his eyes. “Dorm’s closed, Sam, and you look like shit. Where are you stay--” He broke off when he realized  _ Sam _ wasn’t alone in the room. Which was impressive, given the glass windows and doors. A lewd smile slid across his face. “ _ Ohhhhhh _ ...I see. Playing the sick card to get some action, huh?”

I arched an eyebrow. This guy was an asshole.

Sam was apparently thinking the same thing. I could feel the agitation from across the table. He motioned for Brady to open the door, glancing past him at the grad students freshly pissed at the new disturbance. “Shut up and get id here,” Sam growled.

With another eyeroll, Brady took hold of the doorknob and pushed open the door, only to immediately let go with a hiss, as if it burned him. Shaking his hand, he sucked on sore fingers. “Damn doorknob shocked me! Nevermind. I have two redheads waiting for me with a full bottle of tequila.” Pointing at Sam with his other hand, he waggled his eyebrows and said, “Have fun. I’ll see you in a few weeks.” 

Sam sagged into his chair, shaking his head at Brady’s retreating back. “I’b sorry...he’s...he beands well, he’s just...a dick.”

I barely paid attention. How does a glass door shock someone?

When it opens over a line of salt, fixed to the floor with scotch tape. That’s when.

That guy was possibly  _ more _ than an asshole…

“Look, thangks for helpig be, really...I...I’b uh...godda go.”

Blinking, I shook myself out of hunter mode and watched Sam shove the law books into his backpack, tucking the lore against his chest while grabbing several tissues to go. “If you hadn’t let be sit here, I would dever have fiddished by research...so thangks...really.”

Oh...he was leaving. “You’re welcome. Not a big deal. Honestly.” I lifted one shoulder and smiled at him. “I hope you feel better.”

Sam stood, steadying himself on the table and huffing a laugh. “Be, too.” He made his way to the door, pausing at the salt. At least I  _ think _ he paused at the salt. The scotch tape was barely visible, unless you knew what you were looking for. He peered over his shoulder. “I’b Samb, by the way...although you already dknow that.”

“Jessica. Jessica Moore,” I said.

Sam glanced at his hand. “I’d offer to shake but I should wash these...:”

We laughed, he stepped over the line, waved, and was gone.

**xxxxx**

I piddled for a little longer, mostly trying to decide if I was paranoid in a bad way or paranoid in a good way.

The “good way” meant Brady was stunned by the salt, which meant he was a Supernatural creature of some sort. The good way also meant Sam was researching lore for a hunt, and that he  _ did _ notice the salt line on the floor.

The “bad way” meant now that my eyes were opened to that other side, I thought everyone and everything was evil and they all knew that I knew about them. The “bad way” made me anti-social and barely a student anymore, obsessively learning anything medical and biological so I could help people and never have to watch someone important to me bleed to death from a bunnyip’s claw wound again.

Pros and cons aside, both ways sucked because they meant evil had a true place among humanity.

_ Blah _ .

Deciding I was just tired and ruminating on anything associated with the very good looking Sam Winchester (at least I was still alive in  _ that _ capacity), I shoved my things in my bag, retrieved my salt line which simply rolled up and tucked into a pocket, and left the room. 

The first thing I noticed was a dull thudding coming from the ceiling. Probably that thunderstorm that was supposed to be here this morning. By the time I reached the exit, thunder boomed and I could see flashes of light through the front doors illuminating the glistening parking lot. I paused to put on my jacket and get my keys ready. It’d be a short jog to the car, and the less wet I got, the better.

I stepped outside, pulling my collar up once the cold wind struck me in the face. Rain pelted the ground, splattering me even though I still stood under the overhang. Taking a deep breath, I plunged into the wet and ran like hell for my car. It all took a matter of seconds, but I was still soaked through.

Heat on full blast, I checked my mirror and began moving, only to stop mid-backup, at a familiar giant sized undergrad illuminated by a streetlamp at the edge of the lot. I froze, watching him try to walk while his head pitched forward from a sneezing fit.

Shit. 

Shit, fuck,  _ shit _ .

I couldn’t leave him out here. Was I supposed to take a stranger in my car? Was he technically a stranger? Where would I take him? As Brady said, the dorms were closed. Where was his brother? Wasn’t he supposed to get him? 

I chewed my lower lip. He  _ didn’t _ react to the salt, and I  _ did _ suspect he knew about hunting, and I  _ did _ commit to helping hunters by studying medicine after Mark died, and…

Sam stumbled, his backpack dropped from his shoulder into a puddle, and the look of dejection and defeat spurred me to maneuver right next to him. My window was down before I could even process what I was doing.

“Hey, Sam…”

Sam shoved aside wet clumps of hair, squinting at me. “Hey, Jessica…”

“Get in.” I unlocked the door and motioned for him to enter.

Sam blinked, wiping rain off his face and tugging his hoodie closed. “Huh?”

“Get. In. You’re drenched, you’re sick, you’re not walking around in this.”

He stood up straight, clearly embarrassed. “It’s okay...I’b beeting by brother. ” He glanced at the sodden mess of tissues in his hand, miserably stuffing them in a pocket.

“You can text him where you’ll be. Come on, Sam.”

Sam bit his bottom lip, torn about what to do. A bone-rattling boom of thunder, followed by a blast of cold air was the final straw. He hefted his bag, crossed to the passenger side, and climbed in.

In the close confines of the car, it was hard to ignore his chattering teeth, uncontrollable shivering, and incessant sniffling. Reaching behind me, I grabbed a box of tissues and plopped them in his lap the second he was buckled in. Without missing a beat, he grabbed some, blew his nose, sneezed twice, and blew it again.

I put the car in drive, and pulled away from the library.

“So...where are we going?”

I sighed. “My place. Text your brother that I’m at 307...”

**xxxxx**

We got back to my apartment without incident. I watched Sam cross through the doorway to triple make sure there was nothing hokey-pokey about him. Maybe having my fingers crossed helped. 

“Wow…,” he said once inside. “This is... _ wow _ .”

I tossed my keys and purse on a table. “Yeah...rich parents help. Let’s get you into some dry clothes so you can warm up.”

I was in the kitchen making tea when he finished changing. Mark’s clothes were a little short on him, but not terribly bad. It was admittedly weird to see my dead brother’s sweatpants up and walking again, so I quickly turned my attention to the filled Stanford mugs. 

“Thangks...this is, uh, a lot _ *sniff*  _ better.”

I smiled up at him, marveling at his dimples and the completely heartfelt sincerity on his face. He didn’t have the look of a hunter. But then again, every morning I told myself that I didn’t, either.

We sat down, each of us staring at our drinks, the silence broken only by his occasional sniffling. Until, “So...you’re a student here?” Punctuated by a cough, the question hung there for a moment before I answered. 

“Yeah...kinda. Yeah.” Smooth, Jess. “I mean, I  _ was _ a student, full time, studying art history...until my brother died. I’m taking some time off...auditing biology classes and stuff.” 

I glanced up to see Sam’s gaze fixed on his mug, but his head was nodding, like he knew how I felt. “I’b sorry,” he murmured, raising his eyes to mine, forehead wrinkled in sympathy.

_ Ooof _ ...I could fall into those eyes. “It’s okay,” I said. But we both knew it really wasn’t.

“Come on,” I said, “We can sit in the other room. It’ll be more comfortable.” Nodding again, Sam followed me into the living room, where I gestured for him to sit on the couch. “I have some cold medicine, if you want some,” I offered. I had no idea when this brother was showing up, and Sam was back to breathing through his mouth.

Still, he shook his head. “I’ll be okay, thangks. Deand should be here soond. Ugh...sorry!”

I set a tissue box near him and laughed a little. “I’m the one who invited you. No apologies. We can watch TV until he gets here, okay?” Sam settled into the corner of the couch, I turned on the TV, and we waited.

He watched a documentary about outer space. I watched him. He tucked his long legs under a throw blanket, resting his head on his hand. The pink of his cheeks was pronounced, even in the dim lighting, and a thin sheen of sweat coated his forehead.

Fever.

He rubbed his nose, then his eyes, looking all of five years old. I automatically unfolded the blanket, lying it across his lap. Languid blinks were his only response, and I knew he’d be asleep in a matter of minutes.

Sure enough, his head began to nod, falling off his hand twice. Finally, he scooted lower so it could rest on the couch’s arm. I sat very still, watching him sleep, smiling when his leg twitched. I just met this guy, someone he knew may not be human, and his brother was showing up at some point to take him away. This was quite the day.

We probably should’ve engaged in more small talk so I could find out more about him. Was he a student? Was his brother? Was he being picked up for break? I had no idea. So much missing information...I still couldn’t believe I got involved.

Sam sneezed in his sleep, his whole body curling in on itself with a shiver. I pulled the blanket higher, sweeping hair off his warm face. He hummed a little in response to my touch, smacked his lips and fell back into a deep sleep.

Okay...I  _ could _ believe it. He was fucking adorable.

**xxxxx**

Maybe an hour went by, maybe more, when there was a knock at the door. Sam didn’t budge, so I went on my own to see if it was this elusive brother. Peeking through the peephole, I saw a man with short hair wearing a slightly pained expression on his face...part worry, part actual  _ pain _ . He was also quite attractive, but in a different way than the sleeping giant on my couch. A leather jacket hung off him a bit, and a hand pressed against his side.

I knew in my gut it was Dean, but still kept the chain attached as I cracked open the door. “Hello?” I asked, trying to sound innocent.

_ He _ was the one who knocked on  _ my _ door, but he still jumped at the sound of my voice. “Oh! Hey...uh...are you Jessica? I’m looking for my little brother, Sam...I’m Dean Winchester.” His voice caught in the middle of the sentence, making him suck in a breath.

Even without first aid training, I would’ve known he was hurt. “Just a sec…” I shut the door, undid the chain, then opened it wide to let him in. No reaction to the salt or wards, so this was okay. It was totally okay to let a stranger in my home.

Because there aren’t human bad guys. 

_ Right _ .

Dean immediately spotted his brother on the couch and moved quickly to his side. With a gentleness I didn’t quite expect, he pressed the back of his hand to Sam’s forehead, frowning at the full blown fever. 

Okay, totally  _ not _ a human bad guy.

I walked over. “He wouldn’t take anything, but the fever seems impressive.”

Dean dragged a hand down his face. “Yeah, they usually are. I got held up...thanks for letting him stay here.”

“No problem, really.”

I could see the struggle on his face - younger brother very sick, needing rest, fast asleep on a warm couch...older brother was hurt, needing care as well, not wanting to impose.

Well. I was supposed to help hunters, right?

“Listen, how about I look at wherever you’re hurt, and you both stay the night?” 

Dean’s eyes slid toward mine. “Not much for small talk, are you?”

Wincing, I ran my fingers through my hair. “I’m not very good at this, but I know you need help. Both of you. And…” My eyes flitted to Sam. “I’d really like to help.”

Dean pursed his lips, considering my words. “Okay.” He raised his shirt, revealing claw marks all along his right side. “According to Sam, you set down salt lines in libraries. Maybe you can fix a werecat scratch.”

We smiled at eachother. “I’ll see what I can do.”


End file.
